Hppletons* 

ZTown  an&  Country 

QLibrarp 

No.  289 


THE  JAY-HAWKERS 


PERFECTION    CITY. 

A  Novel  of  Kansas  Life.  By  ADELA  E. 
ORPEN.  No.  212,  Appletons'  Town 
and  Country  Library.  I2mo.  Cloth, 
$1.00;  paper,  50  cents. 

The  Opinions  of  Critics. 

London  Spectator  : 

"  A  masterly  picture  of  prairie  life." 
London  Literary  World: 

"There  is  pathos  and  there  is  stirring  and 
vivid  interest.  A  delightful  story,  delightfully 
told." 

New   York  Bookman  : 

"  A  story  as  breezy  as  the  prairies." 

Baltimore  News  : 

"  The  story  has  freshness  and  simplicity,  and 
a  number  of  unique  characters  sketched  with 
graphic  humor." 

Boston  Herald  : 

"Written  with  plenty  of  fire,  spirit,  and  rest 
less  energy." 

San  Francisco  Chronicle: 

"  A  strong  piece  of  pen  picturing,  with  clever 
sketches  of  life,  and  frequent  bits  of  fine  char 


acter  drawing. 


D.  APPLETON    AND    COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

A  STORY  OF  FREE   SOIL  AND 
BORDER    RUFFIAN    DAYS 


BY 

ADELA   E.   ORPEN 

AUTHOR   OF    PERFECTION    CITY,    ETC. 


NEW    YORK 

D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 
1900 


COPYRIGHT,  1900, 
BY   D.    APPLETON   AND   COMPANY. 


All  rights  reserved. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I. — THE  RENDEZVOUS 

II.— NANCY  OVERTON 1° 

HI.— THE   FATAL   SHOT 20 

IV.— THE  DELUGE 30 

V. — THE  BANKS  OF  JORDAN 38 

VI. — BACK  INTO  SLAVERY 49 

VII.— THE  BRAND  OF  CAIN 58 

VIII. — AUNT  MONIN'S  STORY 72 

IX.— AUNT  MONIN'S  FREEDOM 88 

X.— A  SUSPECT 1°2 

XL— THE  BUFFALO  HUNT 119 

XII.— HELP  AT  NEED 134 

XIIL— RIDGWAY'S  DIPLOMACY 147 

XIV. — THE  HIRED  MAN 162 

XV. — CONFESSIONS 177 

XVL— OFF  TO  THE  WARS 191 

XVIL— BUSHWHACKERS 203 

XVIIL— DELENDA  EST  CARTHAGO  ! 214 

XIX. — SLAVE  DRIVING 227 

XX. — THE  TASK  OF  SISYPHUS 237 

XXL— AUNT  MONIN'S  QUEST 247 

XXII. — THE  BURNING  OF  LAWRENCE 266 

XXIII. — NANCY  MISSING 282 

XXIV.— THE  RESCUE 290 

v 


THE  JAY-HAWKERS 


CHAPTER    I 

THE    RENDEZVOUS 

A  HAZY  autumn  afternoon,  with  a  bright  sun  send 
ing  slanting  rays  of  shimmering  light  across  the  wide- 
stretching  prairie;  a  lazy  brown  horse  plodding  along, 
while  his  rider  lurched  sleepily  from  side  to  side  as  if 
dozing  in  the  saddle,  and  nothing  else  to  be  seen  as  far 
as  the  eye  could  reach.  The  horizon  was  like  the  open 
sea,  limited  only  by  the  height  of  the  point  of  view.  It 
stretched  away  measureless  to  the  west,  and  was  only 
stopped  in  an  equally  measureless  career  toward  the 
southeast  by  a  belt  of  timber  showing  purple-blue 
against  the  copper-gleaming  sky.  It  was  toward  this 
belt  of  timber  that  the  sleepy  horseman  was  riding. 

He  was  a  large  man,  lean  and  brown,  with  long, 
sinewy  arms  and  bony  fingers  that  seemed  as  if  made 
to  grip  and  not  let  go.  His  bronzed  face  was  devoid  of 
beard,  revealing  a  square  jaw  and  firm-set  mouth,  while 
beneath  his  low  hat  were  two  gray  eyes,  by  nature  keen, 
but  just  now  dull  with  drowsiness. 

The  drowsy  eyes  managed  now  and  again  to  scan  the 
horizon  for  a  moment  in  a  mechanical  sort  of  way.  In 
one  of  these  sleepy  surveys  the  half -shut  eyes  detected  a 
small  speck,  not  stationary,  but  creeping  languidly  along 
at  right  angles  to  the  direction  of  our  slumberous  rider. 
In  a  flash  the  sleepy  eyes  awoke  and  fixed  themselves 
piercingly  upon  that  speck.  The  overhanging  eye- 

1 


2  THE  JAY-UAWKE11S 

brows  came  sharply  together,  the  horse  was  pulled  up, 
and  for  the  space  of  half  a  minute  the  man's  whole 
powers  were  concentrated  in  one  steady  gaze.  The  dis 
tant  speck  ceased  creeping,  and  for  a  like  space  of  half 
a  minute  also  remained  stationary.  Two  specks  gazing 
intently  at  each  other  across  three  miles  of  prairie  and 
unable  to  make  each  other  out.  They  moved  on  again. 
Our  horseman,  no  longer  sleepy,  slung  forward  his  rifle 
and  looked  at  the  cap.  lie  even  changed  it  for  a  fresh 
one  from  a  tin  box  in  his  belt.  He  unstrapped  his  hol 
ster  and  looked  carefully  at  his  pistol,  and  seemed 
almost  to  shake  himself  into  a  state  of  loose  activity. 
One  became  conscious  that  his  sinews  and  muscles  had 
received  orders  to  be  at  attention,  ready  for  any  demand 
that  might  be  made  upon  them.  A  precisely  similar 
course  of  overhauling  and  general  preparation  was  pre 
sumably  in  progress  on  the  person  of  the  other  speck, 
which  now  began  more  visibly  to  take  on  the  form  of  a 
man  on  horseback. 

"  Making  for  the  crossing/'  remarked  our  rider  to 
himself.  "  Guess  I  ain't  going  to  let  him  get  to  the 
creek  before  me." 

He  gave  his  horse  a  touch  of  the  spur,  whereupon 
the  horse  woke  up  and  answered.  Horses  usually  do 
answer  such  a  spur,  for  it  was  the  sort  called  "  Mexi 
can/'  with  rowels  an  inch  long  and  smartly  sharpened 
at  the  point.  The  rival  horseman,  if  such  he  was,  did 
not  respond  to  the  challenge  of  a  race  for  the  crossing, 
so  that  the  big  man  on  the  brown  horse  had  ample  time 
to  cross  the  water  course.  There  was  no  river  to  cross, 
for  the  year  of  1860  had  been  the  driest  known  in  the 
short-lived  history  of  Kansas.  The  rivers  were  all 
gone  out  of  the  land,  and  rough  and  stony  tracks  alone 
remained  as  a  memento  of  their  former  presence,  with 
here  and  there  a  pool,  clear  and  deep,  or  shallow  and 
slimy,  according  as  it  was  fed  by  springs  or  was  the 


THE  RENDEZVOUS  3 

leavings  of  the  dried-up  river.  Our  rider  stumbled 
briskly  over  the  stony  river  bed  and  then  sat  in  a  loosely 
expectant  attitude  on  his  horse,  facing  the  creek.  A 
casual  observer  might  not  have  realized  that  he  had 
assumed  a  position  which  commanded  a  full  view  of  the 
track  through  the  woods  coming  to  the  crossing,  while 
a  broken  stump  overhung  by  grapevines  almost  entirely 
shielded  his  horse  and  formed  no  inefficient  protec 
tion  to  his  own  person.  It  was  in  order  to  get  behind 
this  very  stump  that  he  had  ridden  so  hard.  He  had 
some  little  time  to  wait,  for  the  other  rider  was  in  110 
hurry.  He  came  on  at  a  leisurely  pace  through  the 
woods,  and  even  beguiled  the  time  by  whistling  to  him 
self  in  a  lively  manner.' 

"  That  coon  Heaton! "  said  the  big  man  as  soon  as 
the  whistling  fell  on  his  ear,  and  forthwith  he  came  out 
from  behind  the  stump  and  rode  down  to  a  pool  near 
the  crossing,  where  his  horse  amused  himself  by  alter 
nately  dipping  his  nose  into  the  water  and  then  blowing 
loudly  at  it.  "  Hullo,  Mills!  "  observed  the  whistler  in 
friendly  salutation,  breaking  off  abruptly  in  the  middle 
of  the  alluring  melody  of  Billy  Boy. 

Mills  made  no  reply,  but  watched  the  other  man 
crossing  the  stony  bottom,  and  then  ranged  up  along 
side  of  him  and  said  in  an  interrogative  manner. 

"  Going?  » 

"  Yes,"  replied  Heaton;  "  I  suppose  you're  going, 
too." 

"  Pretty  near  every  one's  in  this  ride,  I  reckon," 
said  the  first  speaker,  and  they  lapsed  into  silence,  rid 
ing  side  by  side  out  of  the  bottom  lands  up  on  to  the 
high  prairie  once  more.  Mills  looked  sharply  at  his 
companion's  rifle,  and  then,  after  a  length  of  time  he 
remarked:  "  Hain't  had  it  long,  I  reckon." 

"What?  Oh,  I  see.  It's  my  new  rifle — Sharpe's 
carbine.  It's  only  just  come  down  from  Kansas  City, 


4  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

and  I  thought  I  might  as  well  bring  it  along,  though 
of  course  we  sha'n't  want  to  use  our  weapons."  Heaton's 
answer  was  really  more  in  reply  to  his  companion's 
inquiring  glances  than  to  his  spoken  words,  which  were 
very  few  indeed. 

"  Ever  shoot  a  man  ?  "  inquired  Mills. 

"  Lord,  no !  "  answered  Heaton  in  surprise  at  the 
question;  and  it  was  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue  to  add 
that  he  had  always  lived  in  a  civilized  land,  but  he 
reflected  in  time  that  this  remark  might  hurt  the  feel 
ings  of  a  Kansas  man,  so  he  refrained,  and  they  rode 
on  again  in  silence. 

"  'Tain't  no  sort  like  shooting  buffaloes  and  deer," 
observed  Mills,  who  seemed  oblivious  of  both  time  and 
space  in  his  conversation.  "  No,  sir;  I  can  tell  you  if 
it  ain't.  I've  seen  men  as  steady  as  the  everlasting 
rock  at  buffaloes,  and  they  couldn't  hit  a  man  at  six 
yards.  You  see  buffaloes  hain't  got  rifles,  and  they 
don't  shoot,  and  men  mostly  does,  and  that  makes  a 
big  difference." 

"  I  dare  say  it  is  the  sort  of  thing  to  flurry  your 
nerves,"  remarked  Heaton  in  considerable  amusement 
at  his  companion's  course  of  reasoning. 

"  And  the  nearer  the  man  is  the  harder  he  is  to 
hit.  That's  my  experience,"  continued  Mills,  in  a  medi 
tative  manner.  "  Guess  it's  because  t'other  feller's  gun 
looks  so  all-fired  big  when  he's  close  up  you  can't  hit 
him  nohow  you  fix  yourself." 

He  indulged  in  a  silent  laugh  which  seemed  to 
afford  him  much  inward  satisfaction,  but  the  only  out 
ward  sign  of  merriment  was  a  heaving  of  his  big  chest. 
Heaton,  on  the  other  hand,  gave  a  big  guffaw  of  amuse 
ment,  which  showed  that  he  was  not  an  old  hand  out 
there.  In  fact,  Heaton  was  a  recent  arrival  from  Ver 
mont,  a  bright  intelligent  young  man,  a  dare-devil, 
maybe,  but  not  at  all  up  to  the  cautious  craft  of  the 


THE   RENDEZVOUS  5 

older  settlers.  He  would,  as  we  have  seen,  go  whistling 
through  the  woods,  although  he  knew  there  was  a 
strange  man  in  front  of  him.  Mills  got  behind  a 
stump  and  waited  in  a  strong  position  to  see  who  the 
other  man  might  be.  It  was  the  difference  be 
tween  five  years'  experience  of  Kansas  and  no  experi 
ence  of  it. 

"  Last  time  I  was  over  the  border,"  resumed  Mills, 
after  another  profound  silence,  "  we  were  tracked  by 
twenty  Missouri  men.  They  caught  up  with  us  just 
before  we  got  to  the  border.  There  were  thirty  of  us, 
but  we  had  a  considerable  lot  of  truck  and  five  or  six 
wagons.  We  were  blazing  away  as  close  as  could  be. 
Men  and  horses  and  guns  don't  get  much  nigher  one 
another  than  we  were.  There  wasn't  anybody  shot. 
What  beats  me  is  where  in  thunder  the  bullets  go  to. 
Might  as  well  have  been  shooting  peas  for  all  the  harm 
we  did,  or  good  either." 

"  Well,  there  won't  be  any  shooting  this  time,"  ob 
served  Heaton. 

"  Don't  be  too  sure  of  that.  You  can't  never  say 
for  certain  what  there  won't  be  in  a  Jay-Hawk  ride. 
Old  John  Brown,  he  didn't  like  shooting.  One  time  he 
was  dreadful  set  against  any  shooting.  Guess  even  he'd 
find  it  hard  sometimes  to  get  along  now  without  it," 
remarked  Mills. 

"  You  were  one  of  his  men,  I  believe,"  said  Heaton. 

"You  may  bet  on  that.  I've  been  out  with  old 
John  Brown  a  good  many  times.  He  was  the  best 
leader  I  ever  saw.  Brown  and  Montgomery  were  the 
two  best." 

"  And  you  saw  some  pretty  tall  doings  out  here," 
observed  Heaton,  by  way  of  encouraging  his  taciturn 
companion  to  talk. 

"Tall  doings  and  low  doings,"  said  Mills  emphat 
ically,  "  and  doings  of  all  sorts." 


6  THE  JAY-IIA WEEKS 

:<  You've  been  in  most  things,  I  guess/'  said  the 
younger  man. 

"  I  was  pretty  generally  round  somewhere  close.  I 
was  in  Lawrence  when  it  was  burned,  and  I  was  at  Ossa- 
watomie." 

"  And  still  you  think  a  man  with  a  gun  in  his  hand 
is  hard  to  shoot  at  ten  paces/'  said  Heaton  with  a 
laugh. 

"  Yaas/'  replied  Mills  with  a  grin;  "  mighty  hard  to 
shoot  till  you  get  used  to  the  uncommon  size  his  rifle 
looks." 

:' You've  a  pretty  correct  eye  for  the  size,  haven't 
you?  "  remarked  Heaton,  looking  at  his  tough  compan 
ion  in  some  awe. 

Mills  nodded.  They  rode  along  in  silence  for  some 
miles,  and  at  length  came  to  a  small  log  cabin  standing 
just  below  the  bluff  over  Big  Sugar  Creek.  This  cabin 
was  usually  a  deserted-looking  place,  with  no  signs  of 
children  or  chickens  or  the  cheerful  clatter  of  a  settler's 
dwelling  around  it,  but  on  the  afternoon  of  which  I 
write  it  was  a  scene  of  activity  and  excitement.  Some 
twenty  horses  were  hitched  to  various  parts  of  the  di 
lapidated  stake  fence  that  surrounded  the  house,  and 
four  wagons  with  their  big  canvas  covers  stood  near  by. 
Men  in  riding  boots,  red  shirts,  and  large  hats  were 
moving  about  everywhere,  and  the  place  presented  an 
appearance  of  expectancy  punctuated  with  rifles.  A 
rendezvous  clearly,  and  one  that  had  been  numerously 
attended. 

The  arrival  of  our  two  horsemen  was  greeted  with 
satisfaction,  or  it  would  be  more  correct  to  say  that 
Mills's  arrival  was  so  greeted.  Heaton's  coming  seemed 
to  create  no  emotion  whatsoever.  A  little  black- 
bearded  man,  who  was  somewhat  remarkable  among 
the  others,  all  of  whom  were  clean  shaven,  at  once 
hailed  our  friend  Mills. 


THE  RENDEZVOUS  7 

"I  was  waiting  for  you,"  said  the  little  man  in 
quick,  sharp  accents.  "  You  are  wanted  to  lead  one  of 
the  bands.  We  shall  divide  into  two  companies  and 
stampede  as  many  negroes  as  we  can,  and  get  out  again 
before  the  alarm  is  given.  Sharp  is  the  word.  Those 
Missouri  men  are  mad  now." 

"  You  bet!  "  remarked  Mills. 

"  We'll  march  at  daybreak,  and  be  over  the  border 
by  two  hours  after  sunup.  You  are  to  go  south  by 
Hillsborough;  I  am  going  north.  Gather  up  your  nig 
gers  as  spry  as  you  can.  Wagons  to  be  filled  only  with 
women  and  children.  We  meet  at  the  Mine  Creek 
crossing.  No  shooting  if  you  can  possibly  help  it. 
Those  are  your  orders." 

"  All  right,  captain,"  said  Mills,  and  the  two  men 
separated  without  a  word  of  further  conversation,  al 
though  old  companions  in  arms.  They  had  serious 
work  in  hand,  and  wasted  no  time  in  idle  words. 

"  I  am  going  by  Hillsborough;  you  can  come  with 
me,  if  you  like,"  said  Mills  later  on  in  the  evening  to 
Heaton.  "  There  won't  be  no  use  for  your  new  rifle 
in  my  party,  if  I  can  help  it." 

"  I  shouldn't  join  if  there  was,"  replied  Heaton  with 
a  smile.  "  This  shooting  in  the  cause  of  freedom  isn't 
to  my  taste,  and  there's  no  need  for  it  either,  I'm  sure." 

"  Wai,  I  dunno,"  replied  Mills  in  a  noncommittal 
tone. 

The  men  were  busy  feeding  their  horses,  and  as 
each  one  had  at  least  one  horse,  there  was  very  little 
time  for  idle  talk.  To  Heaton,  unused  as  he  was  to  the 
silent  manners  of  prairie  men  when  out  on  business,  it 
seemed  almost  as  if  they  were  regarding  each  other  with 
suspicion.  Instead  of  a  free  and  hearty  interchange  of 
semijocular  remarks,  which  is  what  the  young  man 
expected  under  the  circumstances,  these  men  spoke  but 
seldom,  and  then  very  much  to  the  point. 


THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

"Takin'   heap   o'  bullets   an'   powder?"    said   one 
gray-haired  man  to  another  about  his  own  age. 
"Pretty  tole'ble.     An'  you?" 
"  Eight  smart  chance  o'  bullets  in  this  hyar  belt  o' 
mine/'  said  the  first  speaker,  tapping  his  ammunition 
poiich.     "  I  run  out  once  in  Missouri.     Man  feels  pow 
erful  queer  and  skeery  when  he  knows  he's  got  his  last 
bullet  down  his  bar'l." 

The  speaker  strolled  off  to  his  horse,  and  Ilcaton, 
with  the  chattiness  of  his  youth  and  nature,  picked  up 
the  thread  of  conversation. 

"  Do  you  expect  to  meet  with  resistance  so  that  the 
rifles  will  have  to  be  used?"  he  asked,  more  by  way 
of  opening  the  conversation  with  him  who  had  boasted 
of  his  bullets  than  because  he  put  much  faith  in  what 
had  been  said. 

"  Dunno.  Missouri  men  is  spry  'nough  with  their 
shooting  irons,  gin'rally  speakin'." 

"But  orders  are  to  have  no  shooting,"  replied 
Jlcaton,  not  liking  this  free  preparation  for  a  battle. 

"  Yaas,  but  them  orders  is  on'y  for  this  hyar  ride, 
an'  the  gin'ral  order's  'gin  them,"  said  the  man,  slowly 
buckling  up  his  pouch. 

"  What  is  the  general  order?  " 
"  Allers  to  shoot  fust." 

Heaton  laughed.  "  Oh,  I  suppose  that  is  the  law  of 
Nature,"  he  repeated  lightly. 

"  Eeckon  I'll  feed  my  critter,"  said  his  companion, 
moving  off  to  where  his  horse  stood  tied  to  the  fence. 
Heaton  followed  his  example,  and,  having  fed  his  horse, 
lay  down  in  a  corner  of  the  fence  to  sleep  as  well  as  he 
could  until  the  dawn  should  send  them  on  their  way. 
But  he  found  it  difficult  enough  to  compose  his  mind 
to  rest.  A  thousand  thoughts  rushed  through  his 
brain.  Recollections  of  home  mixed  up  with  flashing 
visions  of  what  might  be  before  him  in  the  near  future. 


THE  RENDEZVOUS  9 

His  life  had  hitherto  rolled  along  in  the  beaten  track  of 
civilization.,  but  now  for  the  first  time  there  was  a  possi 
bility  of  his  being  in  conflict  with  his  fellow-men.  He 
might  have  to  fight  for  his  life  before  another  night 
came  on.  He  might  kill  a  man  or  be  himself  killed. 
The  consequences  of  either  alternative  were  tremen 
dous.  True  "no  shooting"  was  the  order  of  the 
march,  but  that  was  an  order  qualified  by  that  supreme 
principle  which  governed  every  man's  action,  of  "  shoot 
ing  first."  Heaton  couldn't  help  wondering,  as  he  put 
his  rifle  into  its  case  in  order  to  keep  it  from  the  night 
dews,  whether  he  should  feel  so  alarmed  at  the  size 
of  the  "  other  feller's  "  gun  as  to  be  unable  to  pull  his 
trigger.  But  of  course  these  were  idle  fancies.  There 
would  be  no  shooting.  Certainly,  as  far  as  he  was  con 
cerned  there  would  be  none.  He  fell  asleep  at  length 
with  thoughts  such  as  these  in  his  mind,  and  for  some 
subsequent  hours  was  engaged  in  a  fruitless,  but  no  less 
frantic  endeavour  to  bring  his  rifle  to  his  shoulder  in 
order  to  shoot  some  man  who  was  already  sighting  him 
behind  a  most  alarmingly  capacious  barrel.  He  never 
succeeded  in  finishing  the  dream,  but  awoke  again  and 
again  to  find  his  heart  thumping  loudly  against  his 
side  and  beads  of  perspiration  standing  thick  on  his 
forehead.  The  horror  of  the  sleep  and  its  dreams  was  so 
great  that  he  got  up  two  hours  before  the  dawn  and 
went  for  a  tramp  through  the  soaking  grass. 

"  I'm  a  pretty  coward!  "  said  Heaton  to  himself  with 
a  pang  of  shame.  "  The  mere  prospect  of  riding  on  a 
foray  into  Missouri  has  made  me  shiver  with  fright,  as 
if  I  were  a  girl  in  a  dark  room  where  an  owl  screeched 
at  her.  Bah!  What  things  are  nerves!  " 


CHAPTEE   II 

NANCY   OVERTON 

A  PRETTY  girl  standing  in  the  sunlight,  and  a 
young  man  looking  wistfully  at  her — what  could  bo 
more  appropriate  on  a  bright  afternoon?  She  knew 
that  he  was  gazing  at  her,  although  she  was  not  looking 
directly  at  him.  Her  eyes  were  cast  down,  but  she  felt 
his  gaze,  nevertheless.  His  glance  pierced  her  sun- 
bonnet  and  dyed  her  round  cheeks  rosy  red.  She  was 
not,  however,  of  the  meek  order  of  humanity;  so,  red 
cheeks  or  not,  she  raised  her  eyes  defiantly,  and  said : 

"  No,  I  won't." 

"  Why?  "  he  asked,  with  a  foolish  manlike  desire  to 
be  furnished  with  a  reason. 

"  Because  I  won't;  that's  why,"  answered  she  with  a 
truly  womanlike  determination  to  withhold  her  reason. 

"  All  the  girls  are  going,"  said  he. 

"  Then  no  one  will  miss  me,"  said  she. 

"  Nancy!  You  know  you  are  the  only  girl  I  shall 
care  to  see,"  said  he  vehemently. 

"  Then  why  did  you  mention  the  other  girls? " 
asked  she  with  a  flash  of  her  white  teeth. 

"  Because  I  thought  it  might  make  you  want  to  go, 
too,"  said  he. 

"Well,  it  doesn't." 

"  Then  I  sha'n't  go  cither." 

"  The  other  girls  will  be  disappointed." 

"  Damn  the  other  girls!  "  said  he  furiously. 

10 


NANCY  OVERTON  11 

"  Oh,  you  bad  man,  how  dare  you  say  such  a  thing!  " 

"  You'd  drive  a  man  clean  crazy/'  he  said,  jerking 
his  bridle  over  his  horse's  neck.  "  I  suppose  that's 
what  girls  are  made  for:  to  torment  a  man  like  the  mis 
chief." 

"  Women  are  made  in  order  to  train  men,"  she  ob 
served  loftily. 

"  Thank  you  for  my  training  lesson." 

He  sprang  upon  his  horse,  dug  his  spur  into  the  ani 
mal's  side,  and  dashed  down  the  road  in  a  passion  of 
anger.  The  girl  stood  quite  still,  looking  intently  after 
him  as  long  as  his  horse's  thundering  stride  could  be 
heard  on  the  road;  and  then  with  a  sigh  she  turned 
from  the  bars. 

"  I  should  like  to  have  gone  to  the  corn  bee,"  she 
remarked  aloud.  "  I  do  wish  he  hadn't  been  the  one 
to  ask  me.  Men  are  as  horrid  as  they  can  be !  " 

She  stamped  her  foot  angrily,  and  in  her  black  eyes 
there  came  a  wicked  flash.  No,  indeed,  Nancy  Overton 
was  not  of  the  meek  order  of  womankind.  Her  black 
eyes,  her  full  red  lips,  her  rosy-red  cheeks — all  beto 
kened  good  generous  blood  in  her  veins.  She  was  strong, 
healthy,  young,  and  pretty  enough  to  be  as  impudent 
and  as  defiant  as  ever  she  liked  to  all  the  young  men  of 
the  neighbourhood.  It  did  not  matter  in  the  least  what 
she  did  or  what  she  said.  They  one  and  all  fell  madly 
in  love  with  her  just  the  same,  and  came  day  after  day 
to  sigh  at  her  feet  and  to  be  driven  away  by  her  petu 
lance,  just  as  James  Harte  had  been  on  this  sunny  after 
noon  of  which  I  am  writing. 

Nancy  walked  back  to  the  house,  a  quaint  rambling 
structure  with  a  long  veranda,  commonly  called  "  de 
po'ch  "  on  one  side,  and  a  tall,  friendly-looking  chim 
ney  rising  from  the  end.  The  house  had  begun  life 
some  twenty  years  before  by  being  a  log  cabin,  but  now 
it  had  grown  into  quite  a  substantial  dwelling,  all  of 
9 


12  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

wood,  of  course,  but  none  the  less  comfortably  clad  in 
garments  of  blossoming  nasturtiums,  roses,  and  fruit- 
bedecked  vines.  The  deep,  shady  porch  with  its  trails 
of  climbing  plants  invited  one  to  come  in  and  rest  from 
the  glare  of  the  sunlight.  Two  doors  opened  off  it, 
each  leading  into  a  capacious  room.  In  one  of  these 
rooms  at  the  present  moment  sat  a  man  to  whom  Nancy 
bore  that  softened  and  refined  likeness  which  unmis 
takably  proclaimed  that  they  were  father  and  daughter. 
Overton  was  a  bad-tempered  man  to  all  the  world  ex 
cept  Nancy.  No  one  but  Nancy  ever  dared  to  say  "  No  " 
to  him,  and  she  only  occasionally,  when  her  woman's 
instinct  told  her  she  might  do  so  with  impunity.  He 
sat  beside  a  plain  oak  table,  resting  one  hand  heavily 
upon  it,  while  with  the  other  he  flicked  at  his  boot 
with  a  short  cowhide  whip.  He  looked  up  as  his 
daughter  entered,  and  she  saw  the  black  thundercloud 
on  his  brow.  Even  the  dauntless  Nancy  quailed  before 
that  thundercloud. 

"  Those  free-state  men  are  gathering  for  another 
raid,  folks  was  saying  up  at  Papinsville,"  said  Overton, 
with  a  strong  Missouri  accent,  but  without  making  use 
of  the  oaths  that  usually  garnished  a  Missouri  man's 
talk.  He  never  swore  nor  allowed  others  to  swear  in 
Nancy's  presence,  and  the  restraint  he  had  exercised 
upon  himself  had  finally  resulted  in  clearing  his  lan 
guage  of  oaths.  Nancy's  heart  stood  still  with  terror. 
A  free-state  raid  was  the  ever-present  dread  of  her 
life. 

"  Has  Jim  Harte  been  here  lately?  "  asked  Overton. 

"  Yes,  father;  he  came  to-day  to  ask  me  to  the 
corn  bee  over  at  the  Westertons.  It  is  going  to  be  the 
biggest  bee  that  ever  was  here  in  this  part.  Every 
body  is  going." 

"  You  can  do  as  you  like  about  going,  Nancy, 
though  those  Westertons  ain't  regular  downright  Mis- 


NANCY  OVERTON  13 

souri  folks,  and  I  don't  like  their  notions.  But  I  want 
you  to  remember  that  if  Jim  Harte  gives  warning  to 
those  Free-soil  scoundrels  about  my  slaves  Fll  shoot 
him  at  sight.  Yes,  if  it  was  in  the  meetinghouse 
itself." 

Nancy  turned  a  trifle  pale. 

"  You'd  better  warn  him.  Or  if  that  other  fellow, 
Gleeson — he's  another  of  those  confounded  Free-soilers 
— if  he  lets  on  the  least  wink  and  we  lose  our  property, 
he  won't  wink  many  more  mornings,  for  I'll  shoot  him 
through  the  chinks  of  his  cabin.  There  are  plenty  of 
holes  in  it.  I  could  do  it  as  easy  as  not." 

"Father,"  faltered  Nancy,  pale  to  the  very  lips, 
"  you  wouldn't  murder  a  fellow-creature." 

"  'Tain't  murder.  It's  defending  my  rights  and 
looking  after  my  property.  Those  slaves  are  mine. 
I'll  not  sit  by  and  see  them  stolen  by  a  lot  of  rascally 
Kansas  ruffians  that  only  live  by  running  off  negroes." 

"  I  wish  we  hadn't  any  slaves,  if  it's  going  to  lead 
to  strife  and  bloodshed,"  said  Nancy  beneath  her 
breath. 

"What!"  exclaimed  Overton  angrily;  "are  you 
coming  abolitionist  bosh  over  me?  Is  that  some  of  the 
stuff  you've  learned  from  Jim  Harte?  " 

"Jim  Harte  never  said  much  about  it,"  returned 
Nancy,  the  colour  gradually  coming  back  into  her 
plump  cheeks. 

"  If  I  thought  he  was  going  to  teach  you  such  non 
sense  he'd  have  to  clear  out  of  this  and  make  tracks,  I 
can  tell  you,"  said  Overton,  looking  sternly  at  her. 

"  I  don't  think  Jim  Harte  teaches  me  much.  I  am 
teaching  him,"  said  Nancy,  with  a  dimpling  laugh. 
"  At  least  he  said  so  this  evening." 

Overton's  brow  cleared,  and  he  almost  smiled  back 
to  Nancy. 

"  Well,  well,  I  reckon  you  can  see  to  that  'most  as 


14  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

well  as  any  girl  this  side  the  Mississippi.  But  don't  let 
me  hear  you  talking  that  way  again/'  said  her  father. 

"  Who  said  there  was  going  to  be  a  raid?  " 

"  A  man  who  came  over  the  line  early  this  morn 
ing.  He  said  a  man  asked  him  was  he  going  to  join  the 
ride  from  Bain's  cabin.  He  shut  up  pretty  quick 
when  he  found  he  was  barking  up  the  wrong  tree. 
Only  something  is  fixing  at  Bain's  cabin,,  and  that's 
where  that  old  ruffian  John  Brown  used  to  start  his 
runs  from.  Sooner  than  let  them  get  hold  of  my 
slaves  I'd  sell  every  one  of  them  South  for  fifty  dollars 
apiece." 

"  0  daddy,  daddy,  you  won't  sell  Aunt  Monin!  You 
mustn't  sell  Aunt  Monin!  "  burst  out  Nancy  with  a  per 
fect  wail  of  grief.  It  was  so  unexpected  that  her  fa 
ther  was  nonplussed  for  a  moment  and  remained  silent. 

"  I'll  have  to  sell  every  one  if  those  Jay-Hawkers 
come  hereabouts,"  he  said  somewhat  apologetically. 

"But  Aunt  Monin — promise,  daddy,  not  Aunt 
Monin,"  persisted  Nancy. 

"  I  guess  Aunt  Monin  wouldn't  be  much  comfort  to 
you  if  she  was  run  off  by  free-state  men  into  Kansas, 
where  you'd  never  set  an  eye  on  her  again,"  observed 
her  father  argumentatively. 

"  She  wouldn't  ever  go  over  the  border  away  from 
me;  I  know  she  wouldn't.  She  won't  ever  leave  me." 

"  They  wouldn't  ask  her  leave,  but  would  run  her 
off  all  the  same." 

"  No,  they  wouldn't  do  that,"  objected  Nancy. 

"  How  do  you  know  the  Jay-Hawkers  wouldn't  com 
pel  her  to  go,  or  any  one  else  they  came  across  in  their 
raids." 

"  They  only  want  to  set  the  slaves  free,"  said  Nancy 
unguardedly. 

"Who  told  you  that?  "  asked  her  father  quickly. 

Nancy,  perceiving  her  mistake,  remained  silent. 


NANCY  OVERTON  15 

"  Who  told  you,  I  say?  Some  dog  of  an  abolitionist 
has  been  trying  to  get  at  you.  It's  that  scoundrel  Jim 
Harte !  "  said  Overton,  rising,  while  his  brow  darkened 
angrily. 

"  It  wasn't  Jim  Harte/'  said  Nancy. 

"  Then  it  was  that  other  fellow,  Gleeson;  I  always 
thought  he  was  a  spy." 

"  Father,  he's  not  a  spy!  "  cried  Nancy  in  a  fright, 
knowing  only  too  well  what  would  be  the  fate  of  a  spy 
in  that  land  at  that  time.  "  It  is  a  wicked  thing  for 
you  to  say,  and  if  any  harm  comes  to  him  through  your 
saying  he  is  one  you  will  be  accountable  for  it." 

Nancy  was  roused  to  show  more  feeling  than  was 
habitual  with  her. 

Her  father  looked  keenly  at  her  white  face  and 
flashing  eye,  and,  drawing  perchance  a  wrong  conclu 
sion,  said: 

"  Oh,  if  it's  him  you're  hankering  for  you'd  better 
look  after  him,  and  he'd  better  look  after  himself  if 
he's  going  to  play  traitor  in  this  county.  The  boys 
mostly  do  what  you  tell  them  to,  Nancy;  but  it  'ull  take 
more  than  your  black  eyes  to  stop  'em  if  once  they 
get  on  the  trail  of  a  regular  downright  traitor." 

Overton  walked  toward  the  door,  and,  turning,  spoke 
a  last  word : 

"  Yankees  ain't  got  no  business  here  in  Missouri, 
anyhow,  and  the  sooner  they're  all  cleared  out  the  better 
for  us — and  for  them,  too." 

He  left  the  room,  walking  with  quick  angry  strides 
down  the  porch  and  on  thence  toward  the  fields. 
Nancy,  left  to  her  own  thoughts,  seemed  to  find  the 
room  too  small  for  her,  agitated  as  she  was.  Accord 
ingly,  after  walking  rapidly  up  and  down  several  times, 
she,  too,  left  it  and  hurried  off,  but  not  toward  the 
fields.  The  young  girl  ran  round  the  house,  across  the 
yard,  where  many  chickens,  turkeys,  and  Guinea  fowl 


16  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

were  holding  afternoon  cackle,  and  entered  a  small  log 
cabin  some  twenty  yards  away.  This  log  cabin  was  the 
kitchen  of  the  place,  built  isolated  and  far  from  the 
dwelling  house,  a  precaution  against  heat,  brought 
from  southern  Virginia  by  the  owners  of  the  place,  who 
hailed  from  that  State.  The  kitchen  would  have  been 
utterly  dark  save  for  the  light  that  came  in  through 
a  door  which  was  large  and  always  open,  both  summer 
and  winter.  A  huge  fireplace  occupied  the  entire  end 
of  the  room,  where  three  or  four  mighty  logs  smoul 
dered  away  in  a  soft  bed  of  white  ash.  Immense  black 
hooks  hung  from  the  black  cavern  of  the  chimney,  and 
a  number  of  black  pots,  skillets,  and  baking  ovens  stood 
in  a  solemn  row  against  the  wall.  On  the  opposite  side, 
in  another  row,  squatted  several  little  negroes,  as  black 
and  solemn  and  motionless  as  the  pots.  Their  beady 
eyes  rolled  in  their  heads  as  they  watched  the  presiding 
priestess  of  this  temple  moving  about  with  a  rolling-pin 
in  her  hand.  They  would  have  loved  to  run  hither 
and  thither,  and  to  peer  into  the  tempting  black  pots, 
but  were  restrained  by  a  wholesome  awe  of  the  priestess 
and  a  vivid  recollection  of  the  weight  of  that  rolling- 
pin  when  she  cracked  it  upon  their  woolly  skulls. 

"  Yo?,  Pete,  yo'  pison  lazy  nigga,  jess  scoot  down  de 
fiel'  an'  fetch  me  han'ful  ingyons  [onions]/'  said  the 
woman  with  the  rolling-pin. 

Pete  reached  the  upright  position  via  a  Catherine 
wheel  of  remarkable  velocity,  and  stood  grinning  from 
ear  to  ear,  his  red  lips  shining  like  two  scarlet  lines  of 
sealing  wax  along  his  white  flashing  teeth. 

"  Pike  now,  yo?  nigga,"  said  the  woman,  with  a  sug 
gestive  twirl  of  the  rolling-pin  over  her  head.  Pete 
uttered  a  war  whoop  and  was  out  through  the  door  be 
fore  the  twirl  was  half  completed.  All  the  other  little 
niggers  rolled  their  eyes  to  such  an  angle  of  excitement 
and  interest  that  the  whites  alone  were  visible,  they 


NANCY  OVERTON  17 

licked  their  lips  and  showed  their  teeth  like  a  row  of 
manikins  set  in  motion  by  machinery,  but  they  never 
stirred  from  sitting  on  their  small  black  feet,  so  perfect 
was  the  discipline  maintained  by  the  rolling-pin. 

Pete  instantly  reappeared  inside  the  doorway,  the 
blackest  imaginable  silhouette  against  the  bright  sky, 
and  announced  with  exultation: 

"  Young  Miss  Nancy,  she  done  comin'  clar  down  de 
ya'd  to  de  kitching,  she  done." 

"  Yo'  clar  out  an'  git  dem  ingyons  right  smart,  or  I'll 
stamp  yo'  two  eyes  inter  one,"  said  the  woman  in  a 
clear  musical  voice,  very  much  at  variance  with  the 
purport  of  her  words.  Thus  adjured,  Pete  departed 
after  his  onions,  and  in  another  moment  Nancy  stood 
in  the  doorway. 

"  My  honey-chile,  dat  yo'  sweet  se'f  comin'  ter  see 
ole  Aunt  Monin?"  said  the  negress,  turning  with 
eagerness  to  greet  her  visitor. 

Aunt  Monin  was  a  tall,  large  woman,  with  grizzled 
woolly  hair,  a  black,  shiny  face,  and  the  keenest  eyes 
that  ever  kept  track  of  the  simultaneous  impishness  of 
six  little  niggers,  all  trying  to  steal  her  honey  cakes 
as  fast  as  she  took  them  out  of  the  oven.  She  wore  a 
red  turban  twisted  around  her  head,  which  made  her 
look  even  taller  than  she  was,  a  clean  white  shirt,  and  a 
blue  cotton  petticoat.  Summer  or  winter,  early  or  late, 
in  snow  and  in  sunshine,  Aunt  Monin  was  always  just 
like  that.  She  never  looked  either  hot  or  cold,  but  was 
always  alert,  clean,  shiny,  and  as  black  as  black  could 
be.  Aunt  Monin  was  the  cook  and  also  the  devoted 
servant  of  Miss  Nancy,  upon  whom  she  lavished  that 
wealth  of  love  and  love  language  that  had  accumulated 
in  large  measure  in  her  breast;  perhaps  because  she  had 
no  offspring  of  her  own  on  whom  to  lavish  it.  For  Miss 
Nancy  were  reserved  such  expressions  as  "  honey-chile," 
"  de  summa  rose,"  and  many  another,  while  for  the 


18  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

little  niggers,  who  were  of  her  own  colour,  and  who 
might  have  been  supposed  to  lie  near  her  heart,  there 
was  the  rolling-pin. 

"Yo'  niggas,  clar  out  o'  dat,"  said  Aunt  Monin, 
waving  her  long  black  arm  around  the  cabin  and  point 
ing  to  the  door.  In  one  instant  the  squatting  young 
ones  had  tumbled  pellmell  out  of  the  door  and  were  ca 
reering  after  the  chickens  and  turkeys,  to  the  infinite 
clatter  of  all  concerned. 

"  Miss  Nancy,  heart's  delight,  yo'  jess  come  an'  set 
yo'  little  pearl  teeth  in  dish  hyar  honey  cake,"  said 
Aunt  Monin  in  a  cooing  voice,  as  if  she  was  talking  to  a 
baby. 

"No.  I  can't  eat;  it  would  choke  me,"  said  Nancy, 
with  a  sob. 

"Lordy,  Miss  Nancy,  chile,  what's  wrong  wid  de 
lamb  ?  "  exclaimed  Aunt  Monin  in  an  extremity  of  dis 
tress. 

"Father  says  there's  going  to  be  a  raid  out  of 
Kansas." 

Aunt  Monin's  eyes  gave  a  great  flash  of  light,  as  if  a 
sudden  joy  had  burst  forth  from  their  dusky  depths. 

"  And  he  says  they'll  come  this  way,  maybe,"  con 
tinued  Nancy,  idly  poking  a  stick  into  the  ashes  and 
sending  a  thousand  sparks  flying  up  the  chimney.  Aunt 
Monin's  eyes  rivalled  the  sparks  for  brightness. 

"  De  Lo'd  has  hearn  de  voice  o'  de  'pressed  an'  de 
helpless,"  said  she  in  deep  and  solemn  tones. 

"  But,  Aunt  Monin,  you  don't  want  to  go  and  leave 
me?  You  won't,  will  you?"  said  Nancy,  rousing  her 
self  from  poking  the  ashes,  and  looking  up  at  the  old 
woman  in  sudden  surprise  at  this  unexpected  outburst. 

"  Honey-chile ! "  said  the  negress  in  a  caressing 
voice. 

"  I  couldn't  bear  to  lose  you,  Aunt  Monin.  Every 
thing  is  changing.  It  isn't  one  bit  as  it  used  to  be  long 


NANCY  OVERTON  19 

ago  when  we  were  all  so  happy/'  said  Nancy  plaintively. 
"  I  don't  see  why  people  couldn't  have  stayed  as  they 
were." 

"  Dere's  gwine  ter  be  changes,  an'  de  Ian'  will  be 
made  a  wilderness,  an'  de  howl  o'  de  wolf  will  be  hearn/' 
said  Aunt  Monin,  who  was  a  great  person  for  holding 
forth  to  people  of  her  own  colour.  Among  them  she 
enjoyed  the  reputation  of  being  a  sort  of  prophetess,,  a 
reputation  perhaps  largely  founded  upon  her  power  of 
saying  things  whereof  the  meaning  was  not  too  clearly 
obvious. 


CHAPTER   III 

THE     FATAL     SHOT 

FIVE  horsemen  were  stealthily  approaching  Over- 
ton's  house,  keeping  a  sharp  lookout  as  they  rode,  one  in 
front,  one  behind,  and  three  abreast  in  the  middle. 

"  Now  this  job  has  got  to  be  done  in  less  than  no 
time,  if  we  are  to  catch  up  with  the  rest  of  them  before 
they  get  to  the  creek,"  said  Mills,  who  was  in  command. 
He  rode  in  the  centre,  having  Heaton  on  his  right  and 
his  son,  a  lad  of  seventeen,  on  his  left.  His  keen  eyes 
seemed  to  take  in  everything,  and  yet  he  had  no  appear 
ance  of  being  in  a  fluster;  on  the  contrary,  he  was  calm 
and  matter  of  fact  to  a  degree  which  Heaton  found  hard 
to  imitate,  conscious  as  he  was  of  a  distinct  quicken 
ing  of  his  own  pulse  now  that  the  time  for  action  drew 
near. 

"  It  'ull  be  spryer  if  we  divide,  won't  it,  dad?  "  said 
young  Mills,  who  had  been  preternaturally  silent  during 
the  ride,  but  upon  whose  obtuse  mind  the  approaching 
crisis  seemed  to  have  a  vivifying  effect. 

"  That's  so,"  said  his  father,  vastly  gratified  at  this 
exhibition  of  cuteness  on  the  part  of  his  offspring;  and 
then  turning  to  Heaton,  he  continued.  "  There  ain't 
goin'  to  be  no  fuss  here,  'cause  there  ain't  nobody  to 
make  it.  There's  only  a  gal  in  the  house.  Guess  you'll 
go  an'  talk  to  her  a  spell  while  we  get  them  niggers  to 
gether.  You'll  kinder  be  agreeable  an'  keep  her  from 
runnin'  off  to  give  the  alarm.  Guess  you  can  do  that 
20 


THE   FATAL  SHOT  21 

sort  o'  thing  real  well,  an'  you'd  be  a  long  sight  cuter  at 
it  than  Tom  would." 

He  grinned  at  his  son  and  winked  at  Heaton,  who 
did  not  feel  at  all  gratified  at  the  task  allotted  to  him. 
To  try  to  talk  agreeably  to  a  young  girl  and  to  engage 
her  attention  while  his  companions  were  running  off  her 
slaves  was  not  heroic.  He  would  much  prefer  not  to 
see  the  girl  at  all,  and  so  he  told  Mills. 

"  Afraid  of  her  screeching?  Land  sakes,  man,  if 
you're  as  squeamish  as  all  that  what  in  thunder  did  you 
come  on  this  ride  for?  But  you  needn't  be  scared  'bout 
that.  She  won't  screech,  'cause  we  hain't  goin'  after 
the  furniture  of  the  house.  Women  folks  don't  ever 
holler  till  you  begin  to  bang  'bout  the  chairs  and  beds 
an'  things  in  the  house.  They  mos'ly  don't  mind  the 
slaves  bein'  run  off.  It's  the  men  gets  mad  then." 

"  I  hearn  tell  there's  ole  man  in  the  house,"  ob 
served  Tom  Mills,  stimulated  by  the  paternal  praise  to 
make  as  good  a  show  as  he  could  of  his  new  powers  of 
usefulness  and  suggestiveness. 

"  Wai,  wal,  if  there  be,  'tain't  no  great  shakes.  You 
can  speak  to  him  kinder  positive,"  said  Mills,  addressing 
Heaton.  "  Guess  I'd  better  go  round  straight  to  the 
nigger  quarters  an'  see  an'  git  them  all  started  quick. 
Nigger  babies  is  mighty  slow  to  pack,  anyhow.  Ole 
man  Weaver'll  go  roun'  by  the  field  an'  get  in  the  han's. 
They're  boun'  to  be  all  out  thar  to-day." 

Heaton  listened  to  this  plan  of  campaign  in  consid 
erable  disgust.  His  part  seemed  not  at  all  attractive. 
This  is  frequently  the  feeling  of  actors  when  their  roles 
are  being  allotted.  He  intimated  to  Mills  that  he  would 
far  rather  go  to  the  fields  and  gather  up  the  negroes. 

"  No,  no;  you're  too  soft  to  handle  niggers,"  re 
plied  that  very  outspoken  individual.  "You  just  git 
'long  an'  keep  the  gal  quiet.  You'll  do  it  fust-rate." 

Heaton  felt  angry  as  well  as  humiliated. 


22  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

"And  the  old  man?" 

"Keep  him  quiet,  too;  can't  you?"  replied  Mills 
curtly. 

This  completed  the  young  man's  discomfiture,  for 
he  could  not  help  seeing  that  he  was  looked  upon  as  a 
sort  of  no-account,  who  was  told  off  to  do  the  silly  work 
that  no  one  else  would  undertake.  He  even  began  to 
feel  vexed  at  that  girl  who  was  the  unconscious  cause  of 
his  humiliation,  and  resolved  to  make  no  attempt  what 
soever  to  entertain  her,  but  simply  to  order  her  to  be 
quiet.  There  is  nothing  that  galls  a  young  man  so  much 
as  to  be  thought  wanting  in  resource  or  energy  when  in 
the  presence  of  hardy  frontier  men  such  as  these  that 
Heaton  was  riding  with  on  this  his  first  Jay-Hawk  raid. 
Mills  rode  into  the  negro  quarters — a  collection  of 
log  cabins  at  some  distance  from  the  dwelling  house. 
His  advent  was  greeted  by  a  chorus  of  shouts,  barks, 
and  cackles,  according  as  boys,  dogs,  and  chickens  be 
came  aware  of  his  presence. 

"  Friends,"  began  Mills;  but  no  sooner  was  the  well- 
recognised  formula  heard  than  a  shout  arose  of  "  Free- 
soil  men!  Free-soil  men!  "  intermingled  with  howls  of 
:<The  Jay-Hawkers!  the  Jay-Hawkers!"  None  but 
these  ever  addressed  negroes  as  "  friends."  From  every 
cabin  came  the  slaves,  all  women  and  children,  flocking 
around  Mills,  the  little  ones  almost  rolling  beneath  his 
horse's  feet. 

"Oh,  mas'r,  mas'r,  de  Lo'd  has  hearn  our  voice. 
De  Lo'd  be  praised!  We's  gwine  ter  be  free!  Oh, 
Lordy,  Lordy!  Oh,  Mas'r  Jay-Hawker,  take  me,  an'  me' 
an'  me!  Oh,  mas'r,  take  us  all!  " 

These  and  many  other  passionate,  incoherent  shouts 
and  exclamations  greeted  Mills's  ear  as  he  sat  on  his 
horse  looking  down  at  the  eager  black  faces  beneath 
him.  A  huge  negro,  over  six  feet  high  and  of  hercu 
lean  build  rushed  around  the  corner  of  the  huts,  his 


THE  FATAL  SHOT  23 

mouth  open  and  his  great  eyes  almost  starting  out  of 
his  head. 

"  We's  gwine  ter  be  free! "  he  yelled  with  panting 
gasps.  "  Susanner  we's  gwine  ter  be  free!  Why  don't 
yer  shout  Glory,  halleluiah!  now?  Dish  am  better  dan 
de  comin'  of  de  Lo'd  yer  allers  prayin'  'bout.  We's  free 
iiiggas  now."  These  remarks  he  addressed  to  his  wife, 
a  meek-looking  mulatto  woman  with  sad  black  eyes 
heavy  with  unshed  tears.  She  stood  silent  among  the 
shouting  throng,  holding  her  little  black  baby  in  her 
arms.  The  big  negro  seized  the  little  black  baby  and 
held  it  aloft  in  one  mighty  hand,  while  with  the  other, 
clinched  as  if  for  fighting,  he  struck  out  toward  the 
sun. 

"  Yo'll  nebber  shine  on  me  no  mo'  a  slave/'  he  said 
fiercely;  "no,  an'  yo'  won't  shine  on  dish  hyar  nigga 
boy  a  slave." 

He  shook  his  fist  in  the  face  of  Heaven. 
"  De  Lord's  will  be  done!  "  said  the  meek-eyed  wife. 
"We's  free  niggas,  whedder  or  no/'   replied  her 
husband  as  he  laid  the  baby  again  in  her  arms. 

Caesar  was  Overton's  biggest  and  strongest  slave, 
and  would  have  been  his  most  valuable  one  except  for  a 
certain  fierceness  of  temper  that  nothing  could  tame. 
In  the  hope  of  making  him  less  savage  his  master  had 
insisted  upon  his  marrying  Susannah,  a  gentle  mulatto 
woman  much  given  to  praying,  and  for  a  time  Cassar 
had  appeared  to  be  content.  But  when  his  boy  was 
born  the  wild,  untamed  savage  spirit  within  him  awoke 
once  more.  He  was  forever  brooding  over  his  condi 
tion  and  cursing  God  for  the  brand  of  slavery  which 
was  set  upon  his  child's  brow.  His  prayerful  wife  used 
to  be  speechless  with  terror  at  his  wild  ravings  some 
times.  And  though  Overton  had  no  idea  of  the  depth 
of  his  feelings,  he  had  not  failed  to  perceive  that  Caesar 
was  a  dangerous  negro,  who  would  lead  a  revolt  or  head 


24  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

a  stampede  with  courage  and  ferocity.  Accordingly, 
his  doom  was  sealed.  He  was  to  be  sold  South,  to  work 
away  his  life  in  the  cotton  swamps  of  Louisiana.  The 
sale  had  actually  taken  place,  and  Caesar,  although  he 
knew  nothing  of  it,  was  at  this  very  moment  the  prop 
erty  of  a  New  Orleans  dealer,  and  was  only  left  with 
his  old  master  until  the  dealer  had  his  troop  of  slaves 
ready  to  start  down  the  river.  Then,  Overton  nattered 
himself,  he  would  be  forever  rid  of  Caesar  and  his  rebel 
lious  influence.  In  this  transaction  Susannah  had,  of 
course,  not  been  considered.  She  was  to  remain  where 
she  was  and  be  given  to  some  other  man.  Slavery  did 
not  sanction  indissoluble  marriage. 

The  arrival  of  Caesar,  although  it  has  taken  some 
time  to  explain,  was  in  reality  the  affair  of  a  couple  of 
seconds  only,  and  his  deep  shouts  had  scarcely  added  a 
bass  to  the  noise  of  the  shrill  screamings  of  the  women 
and  children  when  suddenly  all  the  clamour  ceased. 

A  sharp,  quick  sound  silenced  them  all,  even  the 
dogs. 

A  rifle  shot  rang  on  the  still  air. 

r'The  sentinels,  by  gosh!"  exclaimed  Mills,  start 
ing  in  his  saddle  and  jerking  his  pistol  out  of  its  holster. 
"Back  to  your  quarters!"  he  called,  and  the  negroes 
melted  out  of  sight. 

A  long,  wailing  scream  in  a  girlish  voice  came  from 
the  direction  of  the  house. 

"That  fool  Heaton  has  shot  the  gal,"  said  Mills 
between  his  teeth.  "  The  damned  Yankee  sinner!  " 

He  put  spurs  to  his  horse  and  dashed  up  to  the 
house. 

When  Heaton,  in  pursuance  of  his  orders,  had  sepa 
rated  from  the  rest  of  the  party,  he  rode  quietly  to  the 
house,  dismounted,  tied  his  horse  to  the  bars,  and 
abruptly  entered  the  room  just  opposite  him.  The  sud 
den  change  from  the  dazzling  light  of  the  open  air  to 


THE  FATAL  SHOT  25 

the  semidarkness  of  a  well-shaded  room  at  first  bewil 
dered  him.  He  did  not  clearly  perceive  either  the  con 
tents  of  the  room  or  its  occupants.  All  he  could  make 
out  was  the  vague  figure  of  some  one  lolling  back  in  a 
rocking-chair.  Heaton  concluded  this  to  be  the  old 
man  of  his  companions'  report. 

Accordingly,  he  walked  straight  up  to  him  and  said: 

"  I'm  a  Jay-Hawker.  We've  come  in  a  band  to  free 
your  slaves.  ^Resistance  is  useless;  we  have  surrounded 
the  house." 

Overton,  who  had  in  reality  been  half  asleep,  opened 
his  eyes  without  the  slightest  appearance  of  alarm. 
Heaton,  now  more  accustomed  to  the  darkness  of  the 
room,  began  to  notice  that  so  far  from  being  an  old  man 
he  was  a  man  in  the  prime  of  life,  and  a  singularly  de 
termined-looking  one  to  boot.  He  began  to  wish  that 
he  had  not  come  alone  on  the  mission  of  keeping  the 
folks  in  the  house  quiet.  Still,  as  the  most  dangerous 
thing  he  could  do  would  be  to  show  any  hesitation  in  his 
manner,  he  stood  his  ground  steadily  enough,  holding 
his  rifle  in  his  left  hand,  with  his  right  hand  resting  on 
the  stock.  Overton  gave  him  a  steady  glare  of  defi 
ance,  and  without  taking  his  eyes  off  the  young  man 
said,  pointing  to  a  corner  of  the  room,  "  Get  it." 

He  had  observed  that  Heaton  was  a  very  young  fel 
low.  He  noted  that  his  revolver  was  still  tightly 
strapped  up  in  his  holster,  instead  of  being  unfastened, 
ready  for  instant  use,  as  it  should  have  been.  Overton 
knew  the  regular  Jay-Hawker  well,  and  he  came  rapidly 
to  the  conclusion  that  he  had  to  deal  with  a  greenhorn 
whom  it  would  be  quite  possible  to  overcome,  notwith 
standing  the  surprise  of  the  visit.  Heaton  heard  the 
words,  but  could  not  imagine  what  they  meant  or  to 
whom  they  were  addressed,  not  being  aware  of  the  pres 
ence  of  any  one  in  the  room  except  the  man  who  was 
glaring  at  him  with  such  unflinching  firmness.  A  mo- 


26  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

ment  of  breathless  silence.  Heaton  heard  a  rustling 
sound,  but  dared  not  take  his  eyes  off  the  man  before 
him,  who  had  risen  to  his  feet  and  showed  that  he  was 
both  tall  and  powerfully  built. 

Heaton  now  brought  his  rifle  to  full  cock,  grasping 
the  barrel  with  his  left  hand  and  putting  his  finger  on 
the  trigger.  He  would  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  aim 
and  pull  if  it  should  come  to  the  worst. 

The  rustling  sound  came  nearer,  and  into  his  field 
of  vision  there  protruded  a  rifle  barrel.  It  flashed 
across  him  now  what  the  order  had  meant  and  what  the 
rustling  was. 

A  woman  was  handing  a  gun  to  the  man. 

"If  you  touch  that  gun  I'll  shoot  you!"  he  ex 
claimed  in  a  high-pitched,  agitated  voice. 

It  was  all  the  work  of  a  second,  but  Heaton  always 
retained  the  impression  that  it  was  a  slow  proceeding — 
a  most  horribly  slow  proceeding,  lengthening  out  into  a 
hideously  protracted  span  of  minutes,  hours,  almost. 
The  man  reached  out  his  hands  for  the  gun,  taking  it 
with  seeming  awkwardness,  muzzle  foremost,  from  a 
woman  who  now  appeared  from  somewhere,  suddenly,  as 
if  she  had  started  up  from  the  floor.  The  man,  with  the 
muzzle  of  his  gun  in  his  hand,  was  rapidly  getting  it  into 
position.  The  time  had  clearly  come  for  obeying  that 
supreme  general  order  of  "  shooting  first."  Heaton 
wondered  stupidly,  or  thought  he  wondered,  how  he  had 
so  quickly  reached  that  order  after  entering  the  room. 
He  couldn't  understand  it.  But  instinctively  he  under 
stood  that  rifle  barrel  that  was  going  to  point  toward 
him.  The  man  was  turning  it.  Was  he  quick  at  get 
ting  his  weapon  into  position?  He  (Heaton),  he  had 
heard  men  say,  was  very  quick  at  bringing  his  gun  up 
to  the  shoulder  and  taking  aim.  Now  was  the  moment 
for  quickness.  How  leaden-weighted  his  barrel  seemed! 
AYould  this  amazing  weight  make  his  hand  tremble? 


THE  FATAL  SHOT  27 

Was  he  sighting  too  high  or  not  high  enough?  Good 
God!  He  could  see  nothing;  neither  the  sights,  nor 
the  man,  nor  anything.  This,  then,  was  the  blindness 
of  shooting  which  came  upon  men  and  prevented  them 
from  hitting  an  enemy  even  at  ten  feet.  This  was  what 
Mills  and  the  others  had  referred  to. 

A  loud  report  rang  through  the  room. 

A  shot  had  been  fired.  Had  he  fired  it?  Heaton 
did  not  feel  certain.  Yet  he  must  have  done  so,  for  he 
had  received  the  kick  of  his  gun  in  the  shoulder.  In 
all  his  hunting  experience  he  had  never  before  fired 
without  knowing  he  had  done  so,  and  knowing  when  he 
had  pulled  the  trigger. 

The  other  man  stood  opposite  him,  but — ah,  what 
was  that?  He  was  gradually  sinking  backward,  and  his 
gun  was  falling  from  his  hand. 

It  fell  with  a  crash.  He  raised  a  nerveless  hand  to 
ward  his  breast.  The  hand  fell  back,  and  then  he,  too, 
fell  back  with  a  heavy  thud. 

Through  the  room  rang  the  loud,  piercing  scream  of 
a  girlish  voice.  Heaton  stood  still  in  a  daze,  seeing 
nothing,  all  his  faculties  stunned  by  that  scream  that 
echoed  and  re-echoed  through  his  brain.  Had  he  not 
been  in  such  a  daze  he  would  have  seen  that  the  girl  was 
picking  up  the  gun  from  the  floor,  where  it  had  fallen 
beside  the  man,  and  was  feverishly  endeavouring  to  pull 
up  the  cock  with  her  trembling  fingers.  He  would  have 
seen  that  after  two  failures  she  succeeded  in  getting  it 
at  full  cock,  and  that  she  was  raising  it  to  her  shoulder 
as  she  knelt  upon  the  ground  with  one  knee.  He  would 
have  seen  that  she  was  aiming  straight  at  him,  only  he 
was  so  bewildered  by  that  scream  in  his  ears  that  he  saw 
nothing.  The  heavy  barrel  was  pretty  steady,  and  in 
another  second  the  trigger  would  have  been  pulled, 
when  the  inner  door  burst  open  and  a  tall  negress 
sprang  into  the  room.  With  a  bound  she  was  beside 
3 


28  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

that  kneeling  girl  with  the  rifle  to  her  shoulder,  and 
with  one  swift  blow  of  her  long  arm  had  struck  the  bar 
rel  up. 

"  Vengeance  is  mine,  say  de  Lo'd.  Honey-chile, 
what  yo'  go  fo'  ter  do?  " 

Heaton's  senses  began  to  come  back  to  him. 

"  You  tarnation  fool,  what  did  you  shoot  him  for?  " 
somebody  was  saying  to  him,  and  people  knelt  down  by 
that  man  on  the  floor.  A  girl  began  to  sob  and  say, 
"  Father,  father!  "  in  such  a  piteous  voice. 

"Plumb  through  the  heart!  Wai,  you  are  a  cool 
hand,  anyhow.  Not  one  mite  flurried  in  your  aim,  and 
your  first  man  too,  I  guess." 

It  was  Mills  who  was  speaking,  and  his  words  filled 
Heaton  with  a  fierce  loathing.  He  stumbled  out  of  the 
room  so  as  to  get  away  from  him,  and  also  from  that 
waging  cry  of  a  girl's  heart-broken  grief.  But  he 
could  not  get  away  from  it.  It  seemed  to  be  following 
him,  and  to  be  continually  ringing  in  his  ears. 

The  place  was  alive  with  people.  Negroes,  awe 
struck,  running  about,  with  here  and  there  a  Jay-Hawk 
er  giving  orders.  The  sentinels  had  come  in  at  the  sound 
of  the  shot,  not  knowing  what  was  to  follow.  "  See  that 
no  one  gets  away  to  give  the  alarm,"  said  Mills  in  the 
midst  of  the  excitement.  "  Here,  Heaton,  you  go. 
Stay  at  the  fork  of  the  road  and  shoot  any  one  trying  to 
pass  you.  Don't  let  one  get  by.  You're  such  a  dead 
sure  shot  you  can  do  it." 

"  You  bet  he  can,  pap,"  said  Tom  Mills  with  a  grin 
of  admiring  approval.  Heaton  had  risen  enormously 
in  his  estimation,  and  he  was  desirous  of  expressing  his 
feelings.  Accordingly,  he  stood  by  him  as  he  unhitched 
his  horse,  and  observed: 

"  Bully  shot  that,  an'  in  a  dark  room,  too !  " 

Heaton  looked  at  him  in  dumb  horror,  and,  mount 
ing  his  horse,  rode  away.  He  rode  fast  to  get  away  from 


THE  FATAL  SHOT  29 

that  wailing  voice,  but  it  followed  him.  It  seemed  to 
be  among  the  trees  and  to  come  down  to  him  from  the 
sky.  He  reached  the  fork  of  the  road  in  a  daze  and 
looked  up  and  down  mechanically.  What  was  he  here 
for?  Oh,  yes,  he  remembered.  To  shoot  people.  Was 
this  to  be  his  fate  for  evermore — to  shoot  people  sitting 
in  their  own  houses  or  walking  along  peaceful  shady 
roads  through  the  wailing  woods.  He  put  his  hand  up 
for  his  rifle,  and  discovered  he  had  none.  Ah,  yes,  he 
must  have  left  it  in  that  dreadful  room  where  the  man 
lay  so  still  on  the  floor  and  the  girl  was  weeping  over 
his  body  and  calling  him,  "  Father,  father!  " 

He  took  his  revolver  out  of  its  holster  and  sat  mo 
tionless  on  his  horse,  waiting  for  somebody  to  come  by 
that  he  must  kill.  Surely  this  was  hell,  and  his  punish 
ment  was  that  he  must  go  on  killing,  though  his  heart 
froze  with  horror  and  his  brain  was  dazed  with  the  wail 
ing  sound  of  a  young  girl's  weeping. 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE    DELUGE 

WHILE  Heaton  in  remorse  and  misery  was  guarding 
the  fork  of  the  road,  the  rest  of  the  Jay-Hawkers  were 
collecting  the  negroes  as  fast  as  they  could  for  the  re 
turn  journey  into  Kansas.  Mills  ordered  the  wom 
en  and  children  to  be  placed  in  Overton's  two-horse 
wagon,  a  proceeding  which  excited  undue  hopes  in  the 
minds  of  some  of  the  younger  members  of  the  commu 
nity. 

"  Hooray,  golly!  Nigga  woman  ride  in  de  ole 
masVs  wagon!  "  yelled  a  stout  fellow  of  sixteen,  caper 
ing  about  on  his  sinewy  legs.  "  Dish  nigga  ain't  gwine 
ter  wo'k  no  mo'.  Fse  gwine  ter  be  free  an'  nebber  wo'k 
no  mo'!" 

"  Go  'long,  you  young  scamp !  Run  and  catch  the 
pony  down  yonder  in  the  pasture,"  said  Mills  to  him. 

"Ain't  gwine  ter  wo'k  no  mo'.  I'se  free  nigga 
now,"  replied  the  youth  with  vast  dignity. 

"Are  you,  by  thunder?  Take  that!"  said  Mills, 
hitting  him  across  the  shoulders  with  a  cowhide  whip. 
The  darky  gave  a  duck  to  escape  the  blow  and  a  howl 
to  show  his  appreciation  of  it,  and  sped  off  to  catch  the 
pony  as  directed.  "Yah,  dat  ole  Jay-Hawker,  he  cut 
wid  de  lash  jes'  like  ole  mas'r  done,"  commented  the  lad 
to  himself. 

A  black  imp  about  ten  years  old  came  along  with  a 
battered  hat  full  of  fresh  white  eggs. 
30 


THE  DELUGE  31 

"  Yo',  Pete,  whar  yo'  done  git  eggs?  "  screamed  an 
other  equally  black  imp  of  about  the  same  age. 

"I  done  rob  Miss  Nancy's  hen-roost/'  said  Pete 
with  a  grin  of  delight.  "  Fse  free  nigga  too.  I  steal 
ebbery  day  now." 

The  exasperated  Mills  felt  called  upon  to  deliver  a 
sort  of  Declaration  of  Independence  on  behalf  of  these 
poor  creatures  who  were  clearly  labouring  under  a  delu 
sion  as  to  the  nature  and  duties  of  a  state  of  freedom. 

"  Look  here,  you  all.  Listen  to  me  now.  When  you 
git  'cross  Mine  Creek  you'll  be  in  Kansas.  You'll  be 
free  men  an'  women  then."  ,, 

"  Glory,  halleluiah!  Golly  Neddy,  oh!  "  they  cried 
in  chorus. 

"  Shut  up  that  noise,  will  you?  You'll  be  free  then, 
I  tell  yer.  You'll  have  to  work  for  all  you  have,  and 
all  you  work  for  will  be  yours.  You  mustn't  go  an' 
steal  from  folks.  If  you  do  you'll  git  punished,  so  you 
will.  If  you  steal  horses  you'll  git  hanged  straight  off, 
I  can  tell  yer.  These  here  horses  an'  this  here  wagon 
we're  goin'  to  take  'long;  they  ain't  bin  stole.  We're 
only  takin'  'em  in  payment  from  your  old  master  for 
the  work  you've  been  doin'  for  him  while  you  were 
slaves.  Now,  do  you  understand?  " 

"  Yes,  mas'r,  we  un'erstan' ! "  they  cried  unani 
mously. 

"  Well,  then,  git  'long  now.  Women  an'  children  in 
the  wagon,  an'  the  men  on  the  horses.  No  stealin'. 
Remember,  I'm  boss  now,  an'  I  don't  have  no  stealin' 
where  I'm  round.  Now  do  you  understand?  " 

"  Yes,  mas'r,  we  un'erstan' !  "  they  cried  again. 

"  Remember,  no  stealin',"  repeated  Mills  in  order  to 
drive  home  his  argument. 

"  We  uns  'member,  mas'r,"  said  they  with  unction. 

Not  two  minutes  elapsed  before  Mills  beheld  a 
couple  of  urchins  standing  on  the  balustrade  of  the 


32  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

veranda  engaged  in  pulling  down  roses  and  grapevines 
by  the  armful. 

"  Quit  that!  "  he  roared.  "  What  are  you  stealin' 
those  grapes  for?  " 

"We  ain't  stealin',  mas'r,"  they  replied  with  ear 
nestness;  "  we's  on'y  takin'  payment  for  de  time  we  bin 
ole.mas'r's  slaves." 

"  Clear  out  o'  this,  you  young  scoundrel!  Don't 
you  touch  another  thing,  or  by  the  Lord  we'll  leave  you 
behind.  You're  only  fit  to  be  slaves,  by  gosh!  "  said 
Mills  in  a  rage. 

A  young  black  woman  came  out  of  the  house  at  this 
moment  with  two  hats  on  her  head  and  one  in  each 
hand. 

"  I'se  on'y  takin'  dish  hyar  in  payment — "  she  be 
gan  apologetically  to  Mills,  who  was  sitting  on  his  horse 
opposite  the  porch  steps. 

"  Take  those  hats  back,  curse  you!  Don't  you  lay 
a  finger  on  anything  else,  or,  by  gum,  I'll  flog  you  all 
round,"  said  the  luckless  man,  trying  to  stem  the  tide, 
the  flood  gates  of  which  he  had  so  easily  opened.  Other 
leaders  besides  the  Kansas  Jay-Hawkers  have  found  to 
their  cost  that  in  aiming  at  some  high  goal  they  had  let 
loose  forces  which  operated  in  totally  different  direc 
tions  from  those  anticipated.  Mills  felt  disgusted  with 
the  negroes,  and  also  with  himself,  for  having  to  flog 
into  the  most  elementary  honesty  those  very  slaves  to 
free  whom  he  was  risking  his  life.  The  negroes,  on 
the  other  hand,  considered  him  a  very  harsh  master,  and 
were  in  no  little  doubt  whether  it  was  worth  being  free 
under  such  circumstances.  To  many  of  them  freedom 
had  no  charms  if  bereft  of  the  power  of  stealing.  Hith 
erto  that  had  been  their  only  form  of  retributive  justice, 
and  it  was  indeed  a  poor  lookout  if  their  first  experi 
ence  of  the  delights  of  liberty  was  to  be  a  restriction  of 
their  natural  propensities  in  this  line.  The  opinions  of 


THE  DELUGE  33 

people  who  have  never  possessed  any  property,  but  are 
merely  chattels  themselves,  are  likely  to  run  in  quite 
other  lines  than  those  of  the  owners  of  property.  Mills, 
who  was  not  a  philosopher  to  trouble  himself  with  any 
problems,  did  not  reason  this  out  for  himself,  but  was 
content  to  observe  that  "niggers  is  all-fired  thieves, 
anyhow,"  and  he  determined  to  see  they  were  located  as 
far  as  practicable  from  his  own  home  in  Kansas  when  he 
got  them  there.  His  interest  in  negroes  was  very  sin 
cere,  but  he  preferred  that  his  duty  should  be  the  excit 
ing  one  of  running  them  off  out  of  Missouri,  rather  than 
the  tamer,  albeit  equally  useful  one,  of  teaching  them 
the  elements  of  individual  rights,  first  among  which  is 
that  of  respect  for  other  people's  property. 

The  young  woman  with  the  hats  retired  to  give  back 
those  trophies  in  a  very  discontented  frame  of  mind. 

"  New  mas'r  powerful  ugly  temper,"  she  remarked 
to  herself.  "Miss  Nancy,  she  heap  sight  better  nor 
he." 

By  this  time  the  Jay-Hawkers  had  collected  their 
negroes,  the  children  were  poking  their  black  faces 
from  under  the  canvas  cover,  looking  for  all  the  world 
like  a  load  of  inefficiently  packed  apes  who  might  be 
relied  upon  to  escape  at  the  first  opportunity.  The 
men,  with  one  exception,  were  either  walking  or  were 
leading  young  horses  and  colts,  which  at  a  pinch  they 
could  ride.  The  one  exception  was  that  of  an  old 
negro  nearly  ninety  years  of  age  who  sat  on  the  seat  in 
the  women's  wagon.  All  plantations  used  to  have  at 
least  one  very  old  man,  whose  duty  it  was  to  sit  in  the 
sun  on  summer  days  and  talk  to  the  passer-by.  He  was 
called  "  uncle  "  by  every  one,  both  white  and  black, 
and  he  usually  was  the  repository  of  all  the  lore  of  the 
neighbourhood,  besides  having  a  good  store  of  vague 
superstitions  and  traditional  beliefs  which  came  down 
to  him  from  his  African  ancestors.  Uncle  Deedy  was 


34  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

the  oracle  of  Overtoil's  plantation.  He  it  was  who 
could  tell  by  the  sound  of  the  tree  frogs'  croaking 
whether  it  was  "  gwine  ter  rain  befo'  de  mo'nin' "  or 
not.  Uncle  Deedy  could  almost  forecast  the  course 
of  the  world's  history  by  the  way  the  wild  geese  flew;  at 
all  events,  their  proceedings  on  the  outward  journey 
were  quite  enough  to  settle  the  weather  for  the  coming 
summer,,  while  the  return  flight  to  the  south  was  equally 
valuable  as  foretelling  the  weather  for  the  ensuing 
winter. 

Uncle  Deedy,  who  for  the  last  twenty  years  had 
passed  an  uneventful  existence,  picking  up  his  chips 
and  corncobs  to  light  his  little  fire  and  smoking  his 
stumpy  pipe  all  day  long,  was  immensely  perturbed  by 
all  the  noise  and  confusion  of  the  raid.  He  didn't  seem 
able  to  get  hold  of  the  right  end  of  the  subject  at  all, 
and  kept  asking  was  there  going  to  be  a  prayer  meeting, 
and  what  brother  was  going  to  preach?  I  have  likened 
the  small  darkies  to  apes  as  they  peeped  out  of  the 
wagon;  Uncle  Deedy,  with  his  grizzled  half-bald  head 
and  his  fringe  of  curly  hair  under  the  chin,  was  exceed 
ingly  like  an  ancient  baboon. 

Meantime  the  raiders  were  becoming  very  impatient. 
They  called  out  several  times  to  Mills  to  know  if  he  was 
ready  to  start.  He  looked  around  so  as  to  make  quite 
sure  that  nobody  was  left  behind,  and  there,  on  the  top 
step  of  the  veranda,  standing  in  the  full  sunlight,  with 
her  red  and  yellow  turban  gleaming  above  her  shining 
face,  stood  Aunt  Monin. 

"Hullo,  my  good  soul,  you're  just  in  time  to  be 
saved.  Jump  into  the  wagon,"  said  Mills  cheerfully  to 
her. 

"  I'se  jess  in  time  ter  ax  de  blessin'  o'  de  Lo'd  for  de 
chillun,"  she  answered  solemnly.  "  Bredern,  yo'  jess 
same  like  de  chillun  o'  Israel  gwine  out  inter  de  wil'- 
erness.  De  Lo'd  go  befo'  yo'  by  day  an'  by  night,  an' 


THE  DELUGE  35 

guide  yo'  to  de  Ian'  o'  Canaan.     Yo'se  gwine  ter  de 
promise'  Ian'.     Glory,  halleluiah!  " 

"  Come  'long,  granny;  hurry  up,"  said  Mills,  impa 
tient  of  the  delay. 

"  No,  mas'r,"  she  said,  bringing  her  big  eyes  slowly 
to  bear  upon  him.  "  De  spirit  o'  de  Lo'd  is  'pon  me  ter 
dwell  in  de  Ian'  o'  bon'age.  I'se  gwine  ter  stay  wid  my 
honey-chile.  De  han'  o'  de  Lo'd  is  heavy  'pon  her  in 
'fliction.  I  can't  go  for  ter  leave  de  lamb.  I'se  gwine 
ter  stay  wid  her  an'  comfort  de  chile's  heart." 

"  Come  'long,  Aunt  Monin,"  called  out  a  woman 
from  the  wagon.  "  Come  'long  inter  de  Ian'  o' 
promise." 

"  No,  Susanner.  I  sha'n't  nebber  see  de  Eibber  Jor 
dan.  I'se  lef  behin'  in  de  Ian'  o'  trib'lation." 

"  Look  here,  Mills,  are  you  goin'  to  wait  here  till  a 
nigger  camp  meetin'  has  sprouted,  or  are  you  goin'  to 
start  home  this  side  o'  sundown?  "  called  out  one  of 
the  impatient  raiders  from  the  road. 

"All  right;  go  ahead,"  replied  Mills,  and  then, 
turning  to  Aunt  Monin,  he  made  a  last  appeal.  "  Now, 
look  here,  friend.  This  here's  goin'  to  be  your  last 
chance  o'  freedom.  Will  you  come  or  not?  " 

"  No,  mas'r,  I  can't  go.  De  blessin'  o'  freedom  'ud 
be  dus'  an'  ashes  in  my  mouth  if  my  honey-chile  warn't 
'long  wid  me  too.  0  mas'r,  my  heart's  growed  roun' 
dat  chile  like  yo'  nebber  can  know.  Ole  Aunt  Monin's 
gwine  ter  live  an'  die  for  her  honey-chile." 

She  turned  as  she  said  these  words  and  slowly 
walked  back  into  the  house,  while  the  women  in  the 
wagon  set  up  a  long  drawn  chant  of  Glory,  halleluiah! 
They  had  meant  it  to  be  the  song  of  triumph,  but 
negroes  always  sing  in  a  minor  key,  so  that  the  sound 
which  floated  back  on  the  still  autumn  air  was  that  of 
women  wailing  together  in  sorrowful  cadence.  Fainter 
and  fainter  grew  the  sound  as  the  wagons  disappeared 


36  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

down  the  leafy  road.,  until  at  last  there  was  perfect  still 
ness  at  the  farm — the  stillness  of  death. 

Nancy  was  left  alone  with  her  dead.  She  seemed 
overwhelmed  with  the  blow  that  had  fallen  upon  her. 
Aunt  Monin  in  vain  tried  to  rouse  her.  Hour  after 
hour  she  sat  in  dumb  misery,,  mourning  over  the  father 
who  had  been  slain  by  the  ruthless  Jay-Hawkers.  How 
long  she  would  have  sat  beside  that  sad  couch  watching 
her  father's  face  set  in  its  last  stern  lines  of  anger  and 
defiance  there  is  no  knowing.  She  was  aroused  out  of 
her  stupor  in  spite  of  herself  by  one  of  those  convulsions 
of  Nature  that  sometimes  visit  the  Western  plains.  The 
day  had  been  bright,  almost  beyond  the  brightness  of 
even  an  October  day.  The  trees  were  glancing  into  yel 
lows  and  reds  earlier  than  usual,  owing  to  the  hot  sum 
mer  that  had  just  passed.  The  sky  was  brilliant  and 
clear,  but  in  the  northwest  a  small  cloud  "  no  bigger 
than  a  man's  hand  "  rose  about  the  middle  of  the  after 
noon.  It  spread  and  covered  the  heavens,  and  out  of 
its  lurid  edges  darted  tongues  of  flame.  A  mighty 
wind  heralded  the  storm,  rushing  through  the  woods 
with  a  roar,  here  and  there  tearing  up  those  trees  which 
had  not  taken  deeply  rooted  precautions  against  wind. 
Behind  the  wind  came  the  rain,  and  with  the  rain  came 
the  thunder  and  lightning,  flash  upon  flash,  peal  upon 
peal.  The  house  shook  and  the  trees  groaned.  The 
rain  came  down  in  torrents  that  seemed  to  beat  upon  the 
shingle  roof  like  pellets  of  iron.  Never  had  there  been 
such  a  storm  known  in  western  Missouri  as  the  one 
which  broke  over  it  on  the  day  when  Overton  was  killed 
and  his  slaves  were  run  off  by  the  Jay-Hawkers.  The 
storm  in  all  its  violence  travelled  from  the  west,  and  for 
years  people  used  to  talk  about  it,  since  it  may  be  said 
to  have  closed  the  long  and  dismal  chapter  of  the  fa 
mous  Kansas  drought,  which  went  so  near  to  ruining 
the  young  country  in  the  early  days  of  its  history.  The 


THE  DELUGE  37 

gates  of  heaven  seemed  unlocked  and  the  floods  rushed 
forth.  The  rain  of  twenty  months  fell  in  half  that 
number  of  hours. 

The  storm  caught  the  Jay-Hawkers  as  they  were 
nearing  the  woods  of  Mine  Creek.  They  tried  to  push 
on  in  spite  of  the  fury  of  the  gale,  for  they  wanted  to  put 
the  creek  between  themselves  and  any  possible  pursuers 
as  soon  as  might  be.  But  it  was  found  impossible  to 
proceed.  The  horses  became  absolutely  unmanageable 
owing  to  the  thunder  and  lightning,  which  were  awful. 
Several  of  the  young  colts  threw  their  riders  and  bolted. 
It  was  necessary  to  halt;  camp  it  could  not  be  called 
where  no  fires  could  be  lighted  nor  grass  pulled  to  make 
beds.  The  canvas  cover  of  the  wagon  did  not  keep  out 
the  rain,  and  at  any  rate  there  was  not  room  beneath  its 
dripping  roof  for  half  the  people  who  were  collected 
under  Mills's  melancholy  command.  The  children 
cried,  the  women  wept  and  prayed  by  turns,  and  the 
rain  poured  unceasingly  all  night  long.  The  negroes 
spent  their  first  hours  of  freedom  in  the  midst  of  misery, 
terror,  cold,  and  wet.  The  strains  of  Glory,  halleluiah! 
had  quite  ceased,  and  in  their  place  came  frantic  pray 
ers  to  be  saved  from  a  second  deluge.  They  thought  of 
the  warm  cabins  at  ole  masVs  plantation,  and  of  how 
they  had  always  there  found  shelter  from  the  wildest 
storm,  and  many  a  regret  was  uttered  for  having  left 
them.  Freedom  has  its  drawbacks. 


CHAPTER   V 

THE   BANKS    OF   JORDAN 

THE  storm  raged  all  night  long,  but  passed  away  as 
the  sun  rose  clear  over  a  world  half  under  water.  An 
hour  or  so  after  sunrise  James  Harte  came  to  the  deso 
late  house  which  the  Jay-Hawkers  had  raided.  He  and 
his  horse  were  covered  with  mud,  and  they  looked  as  if 
they  had  come  both  fast  and  far.  Entering  the  sitting 
room,  where  Aunt  Monin  was  coaxing  Nancy  to  drink  a 
cup  of  coffee,  he  went  straight  up  to  her,  and,  taking 
both  her  hands  in  his  big  palms,  said: 

"  Nancy,  we've  heard  how  you've  been  raided." 

"  My  father  lies  there,  murdered,"  said  Nancy,  point 
ing  to  the  next  room. 

"  I  swear  to  avenge  his  murder,"  said  Harte. 
Nancy's  eyes,  dulled  by  a  night  of  weeping,  gave  a  flash 
as  he  said  these  words. 

"  I'll  avenge  his  death  until  the  prairie  rings  with 
it.  And  then,  Nancy,  I'll  come  to  you  for  my  reward." 

"  I  don't  even  know  who  killed  him.  I  tried  to  fire 
the  gun  myself,  but  Aunt  Monin  struck  up  the  barrel," 
said  Nancy  in  great  agitation.  She  had  hardly  spoken 
since  the  tragedy  of  the  day  before,  and  now  her  nerv 
ous  excitement  began  to  get  the  better  of  her,  and  her 
hands  trembled  piteously,  although  she  tried  hard  to 
keep  them  locked  together. 

"  Poor  Nancy!  "  said  the  young  man,  looking  at  her 
pityingly;  "  I'm  glad  you  didn't." 


THE  BANKS  OF  JORDAN  39 

"Why?" 

"  Because  then  I  couldn't  have  shot  him  myself,  and 
I  want  to  avenge  you,  Nancy.  I  can  do  that  to  show 
my  love.  It's  the  first  thing  that  I  ever  could  do  that 
you  wanted.  I'm  glad  old  Aunt  Monin  struck  up  the 
gun." 

"  You'll  never  be  able  now  to  find  the  right  man. 
We  sha'n't  ever  know  who  it  was,"  answered  Nancy. 

"  I'll  make  sure  and  get  him,  anyhow,"  replied 
Harte  with  a  significance  that  was  entirely  lost  on 
Nancy,  absorbed  in  her  own  sad  thoughts.  "  I  came  to 
tell  you  the  State  militia's  called  out.  We're  going  on 
the  track  of  the  Jay-Hawkers  right  away." 

"  Aren't  you  a  free-state  man?  "  asked  Nancy  with 
some  slight  show  of  interest. 

"I  ain't  now,  I  can  tell  you.  I  never  had  this 
chance  before.  I  don't  care  who  it  was  raided  your 
farm,  Nancy;  I'm  going  'long  with  the  men  to  hunt  'em 
down."  Harte  made  out,  of  course,  that  all  this  zeal 
was  for  love  of  Nancy.  He  did  not  feel  it  necessary  to 
explain  that  he  was  under  the  obligation  to  give  some 
striking  proof  of  his  loyalty  to  his  Missouri  neighbours, 
if  he  wished  to  escape  their  animosity.  He  was  a  sus 
pected  man,  and  he  had  to  be  extra  zealous  in  order 
to  turn  away  suspicion  from  himself.  The  best  proof 
he  could  give  was  by  joining  in  the  pursuit  of  the  re 
treating  Jay-Hawkers.  If  he  could  but  avenge  Over- 
ton's  murder  he  would  have  such  a  hold  on  Nancy's 
gratitude  that  she  would  find  it  hard  to  say  him  nay,  and 
he  could  not  disguise  the  fact  from  himself  that  hither 
to  he  had  made  very  slight  progress  in  her  regard,  not 
withstanding  all  his  wooing.  He  determined  not  to  let 
this  opportunity  slip. 

"How  many  men  were  here,  can  you  tell  me?  It 
will  help  us  some  to  know  how  many  there  are  out," 
said  he. 


40  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

"  I  only  saw  the  one  who  came  into  the  house/7  an 
swered  the  poor  girl  with  a  spasm  of  pain.  "  Aunt 
Monin  saw  them;  she  can  tell  you." 

Aunt  Monin,  who  had  all  along  been  in  the  room, 
apparently  inattentive  to  what  was  going  on,  but  in 
reality  absorbed  in  listening  to  every  word,  now  looked 
up  in  innocent  surprise. 

"  Well,  now,  'bout  how  many  men  were  there,  as 
near  as  you  can  calculate  ?  "  he  asked  of  the  old  negress. 

"  Wai,  Mas'r  Jeemes,  I  was  jess  stan'in'  on  de  sta'r 
step  o'  de  po'ch  a-lookin'  an'  a-lookin'  down  de  road  fo? 
ter  see  de  sight  o'  de  men  an'  bosses  an'  guns  shu." 

Now  Aunt  Monin  knew  perfectly  well  that  there 
were  five  white  men  and  no  more  engaged  in  the  raid, 
but  she  was  not  going  to  let  on,  not  she. 

"  Was  there  a  big  gang — fifty?  "  suggested  Harte. 

"  I  dunno  f o'  shu,  mas'r.  It's  dre'ful  'tickler  work 
countin'  men  when  dey's  ridin'  roun'  permisc'us,  an' 
cavortin'  ebbery  which  way.  Dey  go  like  streak  light- 
nin'  an'  clap  roun'  like  thunder.  I'se  powerful  cute  in 
reck'nin'  chickuns  an'  mos'  nebber  misses  nary  one,  but 
men  an'  hosses  an'  guns  is  long  sight  more  skeery  work 
to  reckon.  I  hain't  nebber  seed  hunderd  men  so  close, 
pressin'  slap  up  'gin  de  bars,  in  my  life  befo',  an'  I  was 
sorter  skeered  an'  blinded  by  de  rlashin'  o'  de  rifles.  I 
dunno  jess  how  many  dey  was,  mas'r." 

"  Where  in  blazes  did  they  raise  a  hundred  men  out 
of  that  dried  up  country  I  should  like  to  know?  "  mut 
tered  Harte  with  a  puzzled  frown. 

He  left  Nancy  a  few  minutes  later  and  rode  off  to 
join  his  neighbours,  who  under  the  command  of  the 
county  marshal  were  turning  out  with  wrath  to  pursue 
the  Jay-Hawkers.  The  news  of  the  raid  had  spread  like 
wildfire,  and  some  twenty  men  were  already  assembled. 
Now,  although  Harte  did  not  in  the  least  imagine  that 
a  hundred  men  could  have  been  at  Overton's  farm,  still 


THE  BANKS  OF  JORDAN  41 

he  felt  sure  there  must  have  been  a  great  number  en 
gaged  in  the  raid  for  such  a  powerful  impression  to  have 
been  produced  upon  Aunt  Monin's  mind  as  was  evident 
ly  the  case.  Harte  was  no  match  for  Aunt  Monin,  and 
indeed  a  free  man  seldom  is  a  match  in  cunning  for  a 
slave.  Cunning  is  the  slave's  only  weapon  of  either 
offence  or  defence,  and  they  had  had  several  genera 
tions  in  which  to  cultivate  it  to  perfection  at  the  time 
when  Aunt  Monin  lived. 

The  young  man  soon  overtook  his  companions 
splashing  along  through  the  muddy  roads. 

"  Git  any  news  o'  thim  ab'lish'nists?  "  asked  one  of 
the  men  with  an  oath. 

"  Not  much.  Only  there's  been  a  heap  of  them 
over  yonder." 

This  information  seemed  to  excite  the  fury  of  the 
party,  who  broke  out  into  a  variety  of  oaths  and  threats. 
"The  cowardly  blue-bellied  Yankees!  Jess  let  me 
git  at  'em!  "  one  would  say;  "  I  reckon  I'd  raise  the  top 
off  his  head  with  this  hyar  tool  pretty  'tarnel  spry,  so  I 
would!" 

"  Them  Free-soilers  better  not  open  their  mouths 
nigh  me,"  another  would  reply.  "  Reckon  I'd  light  a 
bullet  down  his  throat  mighty  peart,  so  I  would.  I'm  a 
mighty  keurious  customer,  I  am,  when  my  dander  is  riz, 
by  thunder!  " 

And  so  on  and  so  forth,  with  threat  after  threat 
expressed  in  more  or  less  extravagant  language.  Be 
guiling  the  time  in  this  way,  the  twenty  men  rode  in 
pursuit  of  the  Jay-Hawkers.  It  is  sometimes  said  that 
brave  men  don't  brag.  It  is  not  considered  good  form 
among  certain  classes,  but  it  would  be  a  vast  mistake, 
however,  to  infer  that  because  these  men  boasted  and 
bragged  of  what  they  would  do  they  were  necessarily 
cowards.  On  the  contrary,  they  were  both  courageous 
and  remorseless.  They  were  prepared  to  risk  their  own 


42  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

lives  in  order  to  punish  the  raiders,  but  assuredly  if 
they  caught  one,  no  matter  even  if  wounded  or  un 
armed,  they  would  kill  him  without  the  slightest  hesi 
tation.  Border  wars  are  always  waged  in  a  ruthless 
fashion. 

And  the  Jay-Hawkers?     What  of  them? 

We  left  the  negroes  spending  their  first  night  of 
freedom  in  rain  and  regret.  At  the  earliest  gleam  of 
daylight  Mills  and  his  son  rode  on  to  the  creek  to  in 
spect  the  ford.  The  elder  man  knew  pretty  certainly 
what  must  have  happened,  but  he  wished  to  see  with 
his  own  eyes.  Under  ordinary  conditions  Mine  Creek 
is  a  river  of  quite  fordable  dimensions.  During  the 
recent  drought,  indeed,  it  had  ceased  being  a  river  at 
all,  and  was  merely  a  succession  of  pools  and  dry  ridges, 
like  the  track  of  an  avalanche.  But  Kansas  soil  is  firm 
in  character,  so  that  when  it  rains  after  a  long  spell  of 
dry  weather  the  water  runs  away  about  as  fast  as  if  it 
fell  upon  a  cement  floor.  That  is  what  happened  now. 
Every  stream  and  rivulet  which  owed  allegiance  to 
Mine  Creek  rushed  into  it  with  an  accumulated  debt  of 
waters  that  filled  that  hard-pressed  river  to  the  utmost. 
It  rose  with  appalling  rapidity,  and  whereas  on  the  pre 
ceding  day  it  had  been  a  dry  rocky  valley,  when  Mills 
and  his  son  inspected  it  Mine  Creek  was  a  raging  tor 
rent,  ten  feet  deep,  sweeping  trees  and  stones  down  in 
the  wild  swirl  of  its  muddy  waters. 

The  two  men  stood  for  some  time  gazing  at  the  roar 
ing  torrent,  then  they  retraced  their  steps  to  where  the 
miserable  camp  was.  The  elder  man  said  never  a  word, 
and  after  a  length  of  time  Tom  Mills  put  his  thoughts 
into  articulate  language. 

"  Reckon  we  hain't  got  nothin'  'cept  a  rifle  bullet  as 
'ud  cross  Mine  Creek  now." 

"Reckon  rifle  bullets'll  be  slingin'  round  mighty 
spry  afore  night,"  replied  his  parent. 


THE  BANKS  OF  JORDAN  43 

"  'Low  thim  Missouri  men'll  turn  out  to-day?  "  in 
quired  Tom  with  some  trepidation  of  manner. 

"  They'll  be  'long  afore  sundown/'  answered  his 
father. 

"  What  are  you  go  in'  to  do,  dad?  " 

"  Fight/'  was  the  laconic  answer. 

When  Mills  reported  the  state  of  the  river  there 
was  consternation  among  the  Jay-Hawkers.  Heaton 
wanted  to  try  higher  up  for  a  ford.  The  taciturn  leader 
made  no  observation  in  reply  to  this  proposal,  but  only 
shook  his  head.  So  Heaton  set  out  to  try  higher  up, 
and  after  an  exhausting  struggle  returned  to  say  that 
he  could  not  possibly  make  his  way  without  an  axe  to 
cut  through  the  tangled  undergrowth  of  grapevines  and 
small  bushes.  Then  Mills  informed  him  there  were 
steep  banks  for  ten  miles  on  either  side,  and  that  this 
was  the  only  place  for  crossing.  Mills  was  occupied  in 
carefully  peering  at  the  ground  and  scrutinizing  the 
bushes  that  grew  alongside  the  track.  He  seemed  to 
look  with  such  anxiety  that  at  last  Heaton  asked  him  if 
he  had  lost  anything. 

"  No,  hain't  lost  nothin';  am  tryin'  to  find  some 
thing,"  replied  he,  somewhat  to  Heaton's  bewilderment. 

"What?" 

"  Tracks." 

"Tracks  of  what?"  asked  Heaton,  who  found  the 
information  conveyed  by  his  leader  in  altogether  too 
concentrated  a  form  to  be  readily  assimilated.  Mills 
looked  at  the  young  man  in  some  pity  at  requiring  an 
explanation  of  what  was  so  extremely  obvious. 

"  Tracks  o'  the  rest  o'  the  men,  to  see  if  they've  got 
'long  'fore  us.  If  they're  behind  an'  comin'  this  way, 
we'll  fix  the  Missourians  yet,  for  we're  'bout  as  good  as 
any  twenty  men  anywhere  round  here,  and  we've  got 
twenty  reg'lar  downright  pretty  rifles.  If  they  ain't 
behind  us,  reckon  the  Missourians'll  fix  us  mos'  likely." 
4 


44  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

Heaton  felt  his  spirits  rise  at  the  thought  of  an  un 
equal  fight,  where  the  inequality  would  be  against  him. 
He  would  then  be  able  to  shake  off  the  recollection  of 
that  awful  scene  of  yesterday  where  the  fight  had  been 
no  fight  at  all,  but  only  one  quick  shot  with  all  the 
advantages  on  his  side.  He  endeavoured  to  look  for 
tracks  too,  but  the  search  was  fruitless.  The  storm 
had  swept  them  away,  even  supposing  there  had  been 
any. 

"  Guess  we'll  kinder  say  we're  a-lookin?  out  for  'em, 
anyhow,"  observed  Mills.  "  It'll  help  keep  the  women 
and  children  from  screechin'.  We'll  git  'long  down  to 
the  river  so  we  can't  be  surrounded,  an'  we'll  put  the 
wagon  in  the  middle  an'  do  what  men  an'  rifles  can  to 
defen'  ourselves." 

When  the  negroes,  now  somewhat  revived  by  the 
sunshine,  beheld  the  swollen  flood  of  Mine  Creek  they 
were  struck  with  the  eternal  fitness  of  things,  and  at 
once  set  up  a  spontaneous  chorus  of  Glory,  halleluiah! 
We's  come  to  de  Eibber  Jordan.  We's  stan'in'  on  de 
banks  lookin'  out  into  de  promise'  Ian'." 

The  enthusiastic  chanting  of  this  song  engaged 
their  attention  for  a  long  time,  so  that  they  did  not 
much  heed  what  the  white  men  were  doing,  but 
whooped  and  sang  and  danced  around  in  the  splashy 
mud,  completely  happy  at  being  in  sight  of  the  "  prom 
ise'  Ian'."  The  white  men,  on  the  other  hand,  were 
very  little  inclined  to  sing  and  whoop,  but  proceeded 
with  their  work  in  grave  silence.  They  pulled  the 
wagon  to  the  side  of  the  road  and  endeavoured  to  hide 
it  by  means  of  branches  and  saplings  piled  up  against 
it.  There  were  plenty  of  torn  and  broken  trees  lying 
around  after  the  storm,  so  that  a  very  skilful  ambuscade 
was  soon  constructed. 

By  and  bye  .Mills  told  them  the  rest  of  the  Jay- 
Hawkers  would  soon  be  along  now,  and  he  intimated 


THE  BANKS  OF  JORDAN  45 

with  some  asperity  that  they  had  had  enough  of  whoop 
ing  and  howling,  and  were  to  be  quiet.  The  negroes, 
accustomed  to  unquestioning  obedience  when  under  the 
eye  of  the  master,  cowered  down  in  and  around  the 
wagon.  A  feed  of  corn  and  cold  corn  bread  was  dealt 
out  to  horse  and  man.  It  was  the  last  they  had. 

"  I  'low  we'd  better  look  to  our  pistols  and  rifles,  an' 
git  our  caps  ready.  There  ain't  much  more  time  for 
foolin',  'cordin'  to  my  calkilation  o'  things.  We  can 
look  out  now,"  said  Mills  to  his  companions.  Heaton 
could  not  but  be  struck  by  the  extraordinary  silence 
with  which  they  seemed  to  receive  the  situation.  There 
was  no  arguing,  no  giving  of  opinions  and  supporting 
them  with  wordy  eagerness.  Each  man  seemed  satis 
fied  with  the  decisions  of  the  leader — at  all  events,  they 
accepted  them  and  obeyed  them  with  almost  military 
silence.  The  young  Eastern  man  was  the  only  one  to 
talk  and  make  comments. 

"We  can  begin  to  look  out  now,"  repeated  Mills 
softly,  as  if  to  himself. 

"  For  the  Jay-Hawkers,"  said  Heaton  with  a  poor  at 
tempt  at  mirth. 

"  For  the  Jay-Hawkers,  if  the  Lord  is  good  to  us,  but 
I  don't  count  on  that  much  when  it  comes  to  fighting," 
replied  Mills,  without  any  conscious  irreverence.  His 
mind  was  too  intent  on  the  hard  facts  of  the  situation 
for  him  to  pay  much  attention  to  the  niceties  of  lan 
guage. 

"  Any  good  getting  those  negroes  to  lend  a  hand  at 
the  fighting?  "  inquired  Heaton,  looking  with  longing 
eyes  upon  the  stalwart  frame  of  Caesar. 

"  Ptcha!  No.  Niggers  can't  fight,"  said  Mills  with 
contempt.  "  Slaves  never  do.  Fightin'  is  work  for  free 
men." 

"  I  don't  know  that.  They  have  fought  sometimes, 
and  gallantly  too,  in  ancient  times,"  replied  Heaton, 


46  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

drawing  from  his  reading  of  past  ages  and  not  from  his 
knowledge  of  existing  negroes. 

"  Don't  know  nothin'  'bout  past  times,,  an'  don't 
want  to,"  said  Mills  with  huge  contempt;  "but  I  do 
know  'bout  niggers,  an'  they  don't  light.  If  you  let  on 
to  them  darkies  as  we're  calc'latin'  to  have  a  tight  with 
the  Missouri  men,  they'll  set  up  such  a  screechin'  as  'ull 
bring  the  whole  swarm  o'  them  down  slap  on  us.  If 
we  can  jess  manage  to  hang  on  an'  keep  them  pesky 
Missourians  back  till  to-morrow  mornin',  I  calculate  we 
can  swim  that  stream  by  the  time  the  sun's  three  hours 
high.  My  horse  there  is  the  peartest  swimmer  in  Linn 
County,  an'  he'll  do  it  seven  times  with  two  on  his  back 
every  time.  Guess  the  others'll  do  it  four  times,  and 
the  colts  once  each,  an'  that'll  take  the  whole  parcel  o' 
them  across;  babies  an'  childern  don't  make  no  great 
differ  when  it  comes  to  swimmin'." 

Mills  chewed  meditatively  at  a  stick  of  thunder- 
wood,  looking  the  while  sharply  from  beneath  his 
shaggy  eyebrows  along  the  road  that  led  out  of  the 
wood.  All  was  as  quiet  and  peaceful  as  if  no  such  con 
vulsions  as  storms  were  possible.  The  trees  were  mo 
tionless,  for  the  wind  had  died  completely  away.  Flecks 
of  sunlight  glinted  between  the  branches  and  fell  slant 
ing  into  the  muddy  pools.  The  negroes  were  peering 
uneasily  from  among  the  boughs  that  hid  the  wagon. 
Ca9sar  stood  in  front  of  the  barricade  and  seemed  in 
doubt  what  to  do.  Near  him  was  that  active  young 
darky  who  had  declared  he  was  "  nebber  gwine  ter  wo'k 
no  mo',"  a  boast  which  Mills  had  remembered  against 
him,  and  in  consequence  of  which  he  had  kept  that  mis 
taken  youth  incessantly  employed  in  every  conceivable 
job,  until  he  heartily  regretted  his  uncomfortable  state 
of  freedom. 

"  Those  niggers  has  begun  to  smell  out  something," 
remarked  Mills.  "  Here  you,  Jake,"  this  to  the  darky 


THE  BANKS  OF  JORDAN  47 

already  mentioned;  "  jess  you  light  out  an'  git  up  to  the 
high  prairie,  an'  climb  a  tree  at  the  edge  of  the  woods, 
an'  see  if  you  can  see  anything  comin'  'long  the  road 
from  Boomsville.  If  you  make  out  a  gang  of  'bout  fif 
teen  men  comin'  'long,  you  jess  pike  back  as  hard  as 
you  can  lick,  so  as  we  can  be  gitting  sorter  ready  foi 
'em,"  concluded  Mills  with  a  grim  smile. 

Jake  swung  off  at  a  coon's  trot  and  was  speedily  lost 
to  sight  among  the  trees.  Mills  and  his  four  com 
panions  then  carefully  selected  the  place  from  which 
they  were  to  defend  the  little  camp,  each  man  deciding 
precisely  where  he  would  fire  from,  so  as  to  be  ready  to 
spring  into  position  the  moment  it  should  become 
necessary.  Their  simple  plan  was  to  form  a  wide  semi 
circle  in  front  of  the  wagon  and  to  fire  from  behind  the 
trees.  Mill's  only  hope  was  that  if  they  could  so  con 
ceal  themselves  as  to  be  absolutely  unseen,  it  was  just 
possible,  if  startled  by  a  sudden  attack,  that  the  Mis- 
sourians  might  back  out  of  what  would  appear  to  them 
as  an  ambuscade.  It  was  but  a  poor  chance,  yet  it  was 
his  only  one,  for  it  had  now  become  evident  that  the 
rest  of  the  Jay-Hawkers  were  either  on  before  them  out 
of  reach  of  harm  or  help,  or  else  that  they  were  them 
selves  hiding  somewhere  along  the  river.  Mills  had 
only  himself  to  depend  upon  to  get  him  out  of  the  hob 
ble  in  which  he  found  himself. 

Meanwhile  the  afternoon  was  wearing  on,  and  Jake 
did  not  return. 

Mills  approached  Caesar  where  he  was  leaning 
against  a  tree  with  his  great  arms  folded  across  his  huge 
chest.  Susannah  just  behind  the  screen  of  branches 
was  crooning  her  baby  to  sleep. 

"  Think  that  boy  Jake  'ud  go  to  sleep  in  a  tree  when 
he  was  set  to  watch  for  men?  "  he  asked. 

"  Dat  ar  Jake,  him  pison  lazy  nigga,"  replied  Caesar 
with  scorn.  "  I  go  see  dey  comin',  mas'r." 


48  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

Off  he  darted  through  the  woods  like  a  wild  boar, 
crashing  along  with  fierce  energy.  He  soon  reached 
the  edge  of  the  timber,  and  there,  not  a  mile  away,  com 
ing  on  at  an  easy  trot  over  the  brow  of  the  hill,  was  a 
band  of  horsemen  sure  enough.  One  startled  cry  es 
caped  from  Caesar's  big  lips  as  his  practised  eye  told  him 
these  were  not  Kansas  Jay-Hawkers  returning  from  a 
raid,  but  Missouri  farmers  out  in  pursuit  of  themselves. 
Back  through  the  woods  he  dashed,  his  eyes  starting 
from  their  sockets,  his  wide  nostrils  distended  with 
panting  gasps. 

"  Mas'r,  mas'r!  "  he  cried,  bounding  up  to  Mills; 
"  dey  ain't  de  Free-soilers;  dey's  Missouri  slave  catch 
ers  out  on  de  hunt." 

"  I  know  it,  my  poor  fellow;  those  are  the  men  Fve 
been  lookin'  for.  Git  'long  into  the  bush  an'  hide," 
said  Mills,  looking  at  his  twitching  face  with  com 
passion. 

"  No,  mas'r,  I  ain't  gwine  ter  run.  Hain't  yer  got  a 
bowie  knife  ter  gi'  me?  I  can  do  a  heap  with  a  bowie 
knife." 

"  Not  much  against  rifles,  but  here  is  one  for  you. 
The  Lord  have  mercy  on  you.  It's  a  bad  lookout." 

"  I'll  kill  one  white  man  'fore  I  die,"  said  Caesar,  as 
he  twirled  his  knife  savagely  over  his  head. 

The  tramp  of  horses  was  now  heard  in  the  distance. 

Each  man  silently  took  up  his  position  in  the  ap 
pointed  place. 

The  tramp  grew  louder,  and  the  faithless  Jake  shiv 
ered  in  terror  as  he  hid  in  his  tree.  He  also  had  recog 
nised  the  enemy  and,  too  frightened  to  do  aught  but 
seek  to  save  himself,  had  crept  up  higher  into  the  tree, 
and  lay  there,  scarcely  breathing,  while  twenty  men  rode 
down  into  the  woods  of  Mine  Creek,  where  five  Jay- 
Hawkers  and  one  negro  with  a  knife  were  waiting  to 
receive  them. 


CHAPTEE   VI 

BACK    INTO    SLAVERY 

"THERE'S  nigger  tracks!"  exclaimed  Harte,  who 
was  riding  in  the  front  rank  beside  the  county  marshal. 
He  pointed  to  the  splashy  mud  alongside  the  road, 
where  a  hundred  footmarks  showed,  the  spot  in  which 
the  negroes  had  been  paddling  about  during  the  earlier 
part  of  the  day. 

:'  Them  dog-gauned  Free-soilers,  I  guess  they're 
skulkin'  roun'  hyar  in  the  brushwood/'  said  the  mar 
shal,  calling  a  halt. 

Five  pairs  of  Free-soil  eyes,  whether  "  dog-gauned  " 
01  not  I  can  not  say,  were  at  that  moment  staring 
straight  at  the  perplexed  marshal,  and  five  rifles  were 
levelled  at  him  and  his  men,  only  waiting  for  the  word 
of  command  to  empty  their  contents  in  their  unsuspect 
ing  bodies. 

"I  'low  them  blamed  Jay-Hawkers  hain't  passed 
'long  this  road  many  hours  back,"  observed  one  of  the 
men,  bending  well  down  over  his  horse's  neck  and  star 
ing  into  the  road.  "  The  mud  hain't  settled  in  these 
hyar  tracks." 

The  marshal  and  five  men  rode  cautiously  forward. 

:f  They  might  be  anywheres  roun'  hyar;  the  creek  is 
too  high  for  fordin'.  Hyar,  you  fellers,  jess  beat  the 
bush  an'  drive  the  'tarnel  varmints  out  inter  the  open 
whar  we  can  shoot  'em  down  handy." 

When  the  marshal  gave  that  order  he  did  not  know 

49 


50  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

that  he  was  broadside  on  to  Mills's  rifle,  not  forty  yards 
away,  but  he  soon  found  it  out. 

"  Fire!  "  came  in  a  loud  voice,  and  instantly  the 
woods  rang  with  the  sound  of  firearms. 

"  Damnation! "  said  the  marshal,  as  his  arm 
dropped  by  his  side  with  a  bullet  through  the  elbow 
joint.  His  horse  had  kicked  at  a  botfly  just  as  Mills 
had  pulled  the  trigger,  which  had  in  all  probability 
saved  the  rider's  life.  One  man  pitched  heavily  out  of 
his  saddle  and  lay  still  in  the  mud;  another  was  thrown 
by  his  wildly  rearing  horse,  maddened  by  a  bullet 
wound  in  the  nostril.  They  turned  and  galloped  back 
to  the  rest  of  the  party  behind. 

"  The  brush  is  alive  with  Jay-Hawkers;  we'd  better 
turn  back  and  wait  for  the  regulars  from  Fort  Leaven- 
worth,"  said  the  marshal,  losing  his  blood  and  his  nerve 
at  the  same  moment. 

"  There  warn't  more  nor  ten  men  fired  or  I'll  bust," 
said  a  young  fellow  who  had  kept  his  wits  about  him. 

The  Missourians  evinced  a  tendency  to  deliberate. 
They  were  doubtful  about  the  numbers  they  might  have 
against  them,  though  not  at  all  doubtful  of  their  own 
courage  when  pitted  against  an  equal  force. 

"Whose  for  wiping  out  the  murdering,  thieving 
scoundrels?"  cried  Harte.  "  Eemember  Overton. 
Not  one  of  you'll  be  safe  from  Jay-Hawkers  if  we  don't 
make  an  end  of  these  now,  so  that  they'll  never  dare  to 
show  their  Yankee  noses  over  the  border  again.  Who'll 
follow  me  ?  " 

A  leader  was  all  that  they  wanted,  and  a  hoarse 
shout  of  approval  greeted  the  young  man's  words. 

"  You  darned  fools,  be  you  goin'  to  run  slap  into  a 
trap  ?  "  said  one  of  the  older  and  more  cautious  men. 

"  Spread  out  an'  take  'em  in  the  rear,"  said  Harte. 
"  This  way,  boys!  " 

He  struck  into  the  bush  where  the  undergrowth  was 


BACK  INTO  SLAVERY  51 

thinnest,  and  was  followed  by  four  or  five  others,  while 
an  equal  number  dived  into  the  woods  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  road.  This  manoeuvre  did  not  escape  the 
penetration  of  Mills,  who  hurriedly  came  out  of  conceal 
ment  and  said  to  his  handful  of  men: 

"It's  all  up  with  us  if  they  close  in.  Our  only 
chance  is  to  keep  outside  of  them.  Spread  as  much  as 
you  can,  an'  do  what  you  can.  We  can't  stan'  agin  'em; 
they're  fifty  strong."  Mills,  like  leaders  of  larger 
forces,  exaggerated  the  strength  of  the  enemy  opposed 
to  him.  In  pursuance  of  these  orders  the  Jay-Hawkers 
scrambled  through  the  woods  as  fast  as  they  could,  so 
as  to  keep  on  the  outside  of  their  adversaries.  A  few 
scattered  shots  were  fired  in  the  brushwood,  by  whom  it 
was  impossible  to  say.  The  main  body  of  the  Missouri- 
ans  now  rode  down  the  track,  and  when  they  reached 
the  spot  where  the  first  attack  had  been  made  and  where 
their  companion  lay  dead  in  the  road  they  fired  right 
and  left  into  the  woods.  A  scream  came  from  the 
wagon,  where  hitherto  the  negroes  had  stayed  quiet,  too 
frightened  to  do  anything. 

"  Oh,  Lordy,  Lordy,  don't  shoot,  mas'r!  We's  on'y 
po'  nigga  women  an'  chillun." 

"  Don't  kill  the  niggers,"  called  out  one  of  the  men 
somewhat  unnecessarily,  since  slaveholders  don't  kill 
negroes  unless  absolutely  driven  to  it.  They  are  too 
valuable  property. 

At  this  moment  Caesar,  who  had  been  watching  his 
opportunity  from  behind  a  tree,  sprang  at  a  man  riding 
a  big  black  horse.  He  meant  to  strike  the  rider,  but 
only  succeeded  in  stabbing  the  horse  in  the  chest.  The 
animal  reared  and  then  fell  forward  on  its  knees,  of 
course  throwing  the  man  to  the  ground,  where  he  lay 
half  stunned.  Quick  as  lightning  Cassar  raised  his 
heavy  bowie  knife  and  buried  it  up  to  the  hilt  in  the 
man's  back  just  between  the  shoulders.  The  deed  was 


52  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

seen  by  half  a  dozen  of  the  fallen  man's  companions, 
and  half  a  dozen  rifles  were  aimed  at  the  negro  and 
emptied  in  a  second.  But  here  again  the  haste  of  the 
aim  saved  Caesar.  Not  one  of  the  bullets  brought  him 
down,  although  one  laid  his  cheek  open  with  a  ghastly 
wound,  and  another  hit  him  in  the  fleshy  part  of  the 
shoulder.  The  sting  of  the  wounds  seemed  only  to  nil 
him  with  a  fury  that  was  not  human.  He  leaped  back 
under  cover  and  hid  behind  the  trees  in  the  thicket, 
crawling  along  on  his  stomach  to  where  Heaton  lay  in 
ambush. 

"  We  must  clear  out  of  this  at  once,"  said  the  latter 
to  him  hurriedly.  "  We  can't  do  anything  against  such 
odds.  The  others  are  gone  already.  I  said  I'd  stay 
and  warn  you.  Creep  along  under  cover  of  the  river 
bank — the  water  is  falling — until  you  come  up  with 
Mills.  He's  gone  that  way.  Good  luck!  Keep  low, 
don't  let  the  slave  catchers  get  a  sight  of  you  or  it's 
all  up." 

"  De  Jay-Hawkers  gone,  mas'r!  "  said  the  negro,  as 
he  saw  Heaton  slip  under  the  bushes  and  creep  away. 
"  Den  we's  gwine  ter  be  slaves  again.  Dish  nigga 
won't  nebber  be  slave  no  mo',"  he  added  in  a  sudden 
fury.  He  was  only  ten  steps  from  the  wagon  where  his 
wife  and  boy  were,  and  the  slave  catchers  were  almost 
upon  them  now.  There  were  bullets  pinging  through 
the  woods  here  and  there,  but  the  quick  crack  of 
Sharpe's  carbine  was  no  longer  heard,  showing  that  the 
Jay-Hawkers  had  abandoned  the  fight  and  were  retreat 
ing.  The  Missourians  were  shooting  here  and  there  in 
an  aimless  way  at  the  foe  they  had  never  once  seen  since 
the  beginning.  They  mostly  hit  the  trees  and  fright 
ened  each  other's  horses. 

The  women  and  children  came  out  in  a  shivering 
little  group,  huddled  together  in  full  view  in  the  road, 
and  implored  the  mercy  of  their  conquerors.  Among 


BACK  INTO  SLAVERY  53 

them  stood  Susannah  with  her  sleeping  baby  in  her 
arms.  A  great  wave  of  mad  despair  surged  through 
poor  Caesar's  savage  mind  as  he  saw  them  there — his 
wife  and  his  child,  the  only  beings  he  loved  in  this 
world,  and  they  were  going  back  to  slavery.  It  came 
upon  him  in  one  awful  moment  what  slavery  was.  A 
slave  was  only  a  beast  to  be  bought  and  sold,  to  be 
tracked  and  hunted  down,  a  brute  beast  with  no  heart 
allowed  to  beat  with  the  emotions  of  love  and  affection — 
nothing  but  a  beast  of  burden  for  evermore.  And  this 
was  to  be  the  fate  of  his  boy — that  bright  little  boy  who 
had  awakened  his  father's  pride  and  had  nestled  at  his 
father's  heart.  He  would  never  be  allowed  to  love  the 
child  nor  even  to  see  him  grow  up,  but  as  soon  as  the 
little  creature  was  able  to  work  he  would  be  sold  off 
to  wear  away  his  life  in  some  cotton  swamp.  These 
thoughts  rushed  confusedly  through  Caesar's  mind  as 
he  stood  for  a  moment  trying  to  think.  He  was  fixing 
his  own  destiny  and  that  of  his  boy  in  that  brief  mo 
ment.  The  horror  of  it  mounted  to  his  heart.  Yes,  he 
could  save  his  boy,  and  he  would  save  him  by  the  only 
means  left  in  the  slave's  power. 

Caesar  was  not  a  religious  negro,  far  from  it.  His 
was  a  rebellious,  impatient  spirit.  He  refused  to  be 
lieve  in  Susannah's  God,  for  he  was  the  God  of  the 
white  man  he  would  say,  the  God  who  turned  a  deaf 
ear  to  the  wailings  of  the  slave.  The  meek-spirited 
wife  used  often  to  shudder  at  his  wild  ravings  against 
the  Lord. 

"  Dish  nigga  ain't  gwine  ter  b'lieve  in  de  Lo'd  till 
he  set  de  niggas  free,"  Caesar  said  more  than  once  in 
answer  to  her  pleadings.  When  the  Jay-Hawkers  began 
to  run  off  slaves  out  of  Missouri  in  order  to  set  them  free 
in  Kansas  Caesar  came  to  believe  it  might  be  the  hand 
of  the  Lord  that  was  uplifted  for  them  at  last. 

But  in  that  grim  hour  when  the  Jay-Hawkers  crept 


54  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

away  under  the  bank  of  Mine  Creek  and  left  the  slaves 
to  the  mercy  of  their  captors  Caesar's  wild  heart  broke 
within  him.  The  Lord  was  not  going  to  save  them — 
that  was  clear  to  his  comprehension.  All  was  lost. 
Still  there  was  the  boy.  That  little  innocent  creature, 
perhaps  the  Lord  would  look  after  the  little  child  and 
have  mercy  upon  it  if  it  were  given  into  his  hands. 
Some  confused  imagery  remained  in  his  mind  about 
crossing  the  Eiver  Jordan  and  going  into  some  land  of 
promise  toward  which  the  negroes  were  eagerly  striv 
ing,,  and  about  which  they  sang  their  rude  songs.  If 
the  little  helpless  child  were  sent  alone  into  the 
promised  land,  surely  the  God  in  whom  Susannah  be 
lieved  and  to  whom  she  prayed  would  receive  it  and 
cherish  it. 

He  sprang  to  where  the  negroes  stood  crying  for 
mercy.  He  was  a  horrid  object.  A  great  wound  in  his 
jaw  covered  his  face  with  blood,  and  a  piece  of  flesh, 
like  an  awful  blister,  hung  red  against  his  black  neck. 
Streams  of  blood  came  from  his  shoulder,  but  his 
mighty  strength  was  not  yet  spent.  With  a  howl  like 
a  wild  beast  he  dashed  up  to  his  wife,  seized  the  sleeping 
child  from  her  arms  and  rushed  to  the  river  brink. 
Taking  the  infant  by  one  little  round  leg,  he  swung  it 
over  his  head  and  sent  it  with  a  mighty  sweep  far  out 
into  the  stream.  It  plunged  head  foremost  into  the 
yellow  flood  and  disappeared. 

It  had  never  even  awakened  into  consciousness  out 
of  its  sleep,  so  swift  was  the  rush  that  had  jerked  it 
from  its  mother's  bosom  into  eternity.  Susannah,  with 
an  awful  cry,  fell  face  forward  and  lay  without  moving 
in  the  muddy  road.  Caesar,  like  a  wounded  boar,  turned 
and  charged  down  the  road  straight  at  his  pursuers. 
His  huge  frame  was  beginning  to  stagger  now,  but  he 
rushed  with  his  bowie  knife  in  his  hand  raised  ready  to 
strike.  He  reached  the  foremost  rider  and  flung  up  his 


BACK  INTO  SLAVERY  55 

knife  just  as  two  rifle  bullets  passed  through  and 
through  his  body.  The  knife  sped  straight  enough,  but 
the  hand  that  hurled  it  was  quivering  in  its  last  pulses. 
The  bowie  knife  stuck  in  the  thick  homespun  coat  be 
neath  the  leather  belt,  but  only  grazed  the  skin  of  the 
harshest  slave  owner  in  all  Missouri. 

Csesar  fell  shot  through  the  heart,  and  the  horses 
trampled  his  quivering  body  into  the  yellow  mud. 

He  had  killed  one  white  man  and  saved  his  boy  from 
slavery.  His  wild  and  savage  heart  lay  still  enough 
now,  and  would  never  plan  murders  and  burnings  and 
fierce  revenges  for  the  wrongs  of  his  rafte  as  it  had  so 
often  done  in  the  untamed  days  of  his  youth.  He  was 
only  a  savage  with  a  savage's  courage  and  also  a  savage's 
ferocity,  but  under  other  circumstances  he  might  have 
been  a  hero  and  made  a  famous  name.  As  it  was,  he 
was  only  a  rebellious  slave  who  was  killed  in  a  fight, 
and  whose  body  was  trampled  to  pieces  by  the  horses' 
feet. 

The  Missourians  surrounded  the  little  group  of  ter 
rified  slaves  and  with  the  butt  ends  of  their  guns  struck 
them  indiscriminately  about  the  head  and  shoulders. 
Pitiful  cries  and  screams  for  mercy  were  raised,  but  in 
truth  very  few.  of  the  slaves  received  any  serious  dam 
age.  They  were  adepts  at  howling,  and  also  adepts  at 
dodging.  Had  there  been  any  full-grown  men  among 
them  these  would  have  fared  ill,  for  the  Missourians 
were  so  infuriated  by  the  death  of  their  comrade  at  the 
hands  of  Caesar  that  they  would  have  been  apt  to  avenge 
his  death  upon  the  first  able-bodied  negro  they  came 
across.  As  it  was,  the  men  had  all  escaped — Jake  in  a 
tree,  Caesar  by  death,  and  the  two  others  by  crawling  off 
into  the  brushwood. 

Uncle  Deedy  was  still  there — poor  old  Uncle  Deedy, 
who  was  roused  up  into  a  state  of  unwonted  animation 
by  all  the  noise  and  confusion,  so  that  he  began  to  sing 


56  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

in  a  cracked  old  voice  a  hymn  of  his  own  making,  to  the 
effect  that  he  too,  "  was  gwine  down  de  Kibber  Jordan 
inter  de  promise'  Ian',  whar  he  seen  de  angels  a-wash- 
in'  o'  der  white-robe'  gowns." 

"  Shut  up,  you  dodderin'  ole  fool!  "  cried  one  of  the 
men,  menacing  him  with  his  rifle  butt.  Uncle  Deedy, 
absolutely  unconscious  of  all  that  was  going  on,  only 
sang  the  louder,  whereupon  the  man  gave  him  a  knock 
on  the  head.  The  blow  would  scarcely  have  been  felt 
by  a  hardy  nigger  lad,  but  Uncle  Deedy  was  ninety 
years  old,  and  it  killed  him  on  the  spot. 

"  Just  as  well  to  be  rid  of  him;  he  only  ate  up  the 
corn  bread  and  did  no  good,"  remarked  the  man,  with 
philosophy.  "  Here,  pitch  him  into  the  river;  them 
young  colts  is  powerful  skeered  o'  dead  niggers." 

The  old  man's  body  was  therefore  pitched  into  the 
river.  Thus  the  youngest  and  the  oldest  of  that  for 
lorn  party  of  slaves  crossed  the  Eiver  Jordan  and  en 
tered  into  their  promised  land. 

Late  that  night  a  miserable  herd  of  negroes  was 
driven  into  the  yard  at  Overton's  farm,  and  Nancy  was 
bidden  out  to  receive  back  her  property. 

"  We  hain't  got  'em  all.  We  had  to  shoot  that  big 
nigger  o'  yourn,  Caesar,  'cause  he  fought  like  the  devil 
an'  killed  ole  man  Smith  with  a  bowie  knife.  Three 
others  run  clean  off,  an'  one  ole  one  an'  a  baby  was 
drowned  in  the  creek.  Sorry  we  hain't  cotched  'em 
all."  The  speaker  was  the  owner  of  the  next  farm  to 
Nancy's  home. 

"  Did  you  kill  him?  "  asked  the  young  girl,  with 
hurried  emphasis  on  the  pronoun. 

"Who?     Caesar?" 

"  No.     My  father's  murderer — did  you  kill  him?  " 

"  Wai,  we  can't  rightly  say,"  replied  the  same 
speaker  as  before,  but  with  considerable  hesitation  of 
manner.  "  We  done  a  heap  o'  shootin',  an'  I  'low  some- 


BACK  INTO  SLAVERY  57 

body  inns'  ha'  been  hit,  'cause  we  hearn  an  almighty 
screech.  We  jess  come  up  to  them  at  the  crossin'  o' 
Mine  Creek,  an'  it's  pretty  close  timber  thar,  an'  kinder 
difficult  to  git  the  drop  on  a  man." 

"  How  many  Jay-Hawkers  were  there  ? "  asked 
Nancy. 

"  We  didn't  get  a  good  sight  o'  them,  so  we  can't  say 
for  certain,  but  the  woods  was  just  full  o'  them — we 
could  tell  by  the  shootin',"  replied  a  voice  from  among 
the  horsemen  which  Nancy  recognised  as  that  of 
James  Harte. 

"  Dere  was  jess  five  men,  mas'r,"  said  one  of  the  re 
captured  negroes.  "We  seed  'em  all  day  long.  Dey 
was  five  men,  an'  one  warn't  on'y  de  size  of  a  small  b'y." 

Nancy  gave  a  quick  scornful  laugh. 

"  You  are  valiant  men — especially  you,  James  Harte. 
Your  vengeance  is  indeed  likely  to  make  the  prairie 
ring.  To  say  that  twenty  Missouri  men  couldn't  catch 
five  Kansas  Jay-Hawkers!  You  ought  to  be  proud 
men  to-night." 

With  another  quick  scornful  laugh  she  turned  on 
the  heel  and  entered  the  house. 


CHAPTER    VII 

THE    BRAND    OF    CAIN 

HEATON  returned  to  his,  lonely  cabin  beyond  Keo- 
kuk,  a  sadder  man  after  the  abortive  Jay-Hawker  raid, 
but  not  necessarily  a  wiser  one.  Sadness  and  wisdom 
are  not  interchangeable  terms.  The  first  does  not  al 
ways  involve  the  second,  for  experience  may  be  fruitful 
in  sorrow  without  supplying  the  sufferer  with  any  more 
infallible  guide  for  future  conduct  than  he  had  before. 
The  shot  which  he  had  fired  with  such  fatal  aim  in  that 
farmhouse  down  in  Missouri  had  dealt  a  death  wound 
to  some  of  his  most  cherished  opinions.  Brought  up  in 
an  atmosphere  of  almost  militant  abolitionism,  Heaton 
had  come  to  Kansas  full  of  enthusiasm  and  determined 
to  do  what  he  could  to  right  the  great  wrong  of  slavery. 
He  felt  it  to  be  the  nation's  curse,  which  it  was  his 
sacred  duty  to  lessen  as  far  as  in  him  lay. 

Charlie  Heaton  was  just  twenty-four,  and  his  gener 
ous  blood  had  been  stirred  by  the  accounts  of  John 
Brown's  exploits  in  Kansas — exploits  that  had  become 
all  the  more  noble  in  the  minds  of  most  men  since  John 
Brown  had  set  the  seal  of  martyrdom  on  his  opinions. 
No  bold-spirited  man  having  abolitionist  views  could 
help  having  his  admiration  aroused,  nor  prevent  his 
heart  beating  in  quick  response  to  the  story  of  John 
Brown's  life  and  death.  It  was  just  the  very  impulse 
to  start  a  young  fellow  like  Charlie  Heaton  on  a  course 
of  similar  dangerous  philanthropy.  The  war  in  Kansas 
58 


THE  BRAND  OF  CAW  59 


was  a  tempting  scene  for  such  an  actor  to  make  his 
debut.  Not  that  he  went  to  Kansas  with  a  definite  idea 
of  taking  part  in  that  irregular  and  savage  struggle. 
On  the  contrary,  being  a  man  of  refined  feeling,  he  de 
termined  in  his  own  mind  to  keep  clear  of  fighting. 
But  he  also  determined  to  lend  a  hand  in  any  work  for 
the  freeing  of  the  slaves.  That  was  a  noble  object,  and, 
as  far  as  one  man  could,  he  would  devote  his  energy, 
ay,  his  life,  to  accomplishing  the  task. 

With  his  mind  set  in  this  way,  Charlie  arrived  in 
Kansas  in  the  May  of  1860,  and  in  the  following  Octo 
ber,  as  we  have  seen,  he  joined  his  first  Jay-Hawking 
raid.  Five  months  on  the  prairie  had  modified  the 
opinions  he  had  brought  with  him  from  the  East.  He 
was  just  as  enthusiastic  as  ever  to  make  Kansas  a  free 
State  and  to  keep  the  curse  of  slavery  from  her  borders, 
but  he  was  more  lenient  toward  the  fighting  Free-soilers 
than  he  had  been  when  merely  reading  about  their 
many  questionable  exploits  in  the  safe  seclusion  of  his 
home  in  Vermont.  Still  he  resolved  to  keep  clear  of 
fighting,  as  far  as  he  was  concerned.  This  may  seem 
a  strange  resolution  on  the  part  of  a  man  who  was 
ready  to  join  the  Jay-Hawkers,  but  he  had  much  to 
learn. 

When  starting  on  the  raid  he  had  undoubtedly  con 
templated  the  possibility  of  a  conflict  with  the  slave 
owners,  and  had  armed  himself  with  due  care  for  such 
a  contingency.  The  conflict  of  his  imagination,  how 
ever,  had  always  been  in  the  open,  with  the  odds  against 
his  side.  It  had  never  once  taken  on  the  hideous  form 
of  accomplished  facts,  wherein  he  was  the  stealthy  at 
tacker,  and  where  a  half  -sleeping  old  man  was  shot  in 
his  own  house.  Charlie  was  young,  he  was  a  dreamer, 
he  was  ambitious.  He  saw  around  him  a  great  evil 
against  which  his  heart  revolted.  He  dreamed  that  he 
might  help  to  overcome  that  evil.  He  saw  himself  act- 


60  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

ing  a  not  ignoble  part  in  the  great  drama,  and  his  mind 
received  the  meed  of  its  own  praise. 

For  my  part  I  am  sorry  for  these  young  dreamers. 
To  them  the  world  is  a  great  stage  with  all  the  freshness 
of  their  young  ambitions  concealing  its  bedraggled 
scenery.  They  see  themselves  taking  a  leading  part, 
they  fancy  themselves  commanding  the  applause  of  a 
nation  and  shaping  the  world's  history,  and  then  sud 
denly  they  find  themselves  knocked  aside,  they  know 
not  how,  by  some  unexpected  coup  de  theatre.  The 
bedraggled  scenery  stands  revealed  in  all  its  cob 
webs  and  dust  to  their  disillusioned  eyes,  and  they  dis 
cover  that  they  were  never  in  a  leading  part  at  all,  but 
that  quite  other  actors  are  at  work  the  whole  time  aim 
ing  after  quite  another  denouement.  Poor  young 
dreamers! 

Of  course  the  Jay-Hawkers  did  not  blame  Heaton 
for  his  act  when  once  they  understood  it  was  a  case  of 
"  shooting  first ";  but  acquittal  by  his  neighbours  was 
not  enough  for  him.  Charlie  wanted  acquittal  by  his 
own  conscience.  He  prized  above  all  else  the  approval 
of  his  best  self.  He  did  not  shrink  from  mentally  argu 
ing  out  the  subject.  He  lived  quite  alone,  so  he  had 
plenty  of  time  in  which  to  thrash  out  the  question  very 
fully,  and  the  more  he  thrashed  it  the  harder  it  became 
for  him  to  prove  satisfactorily  to  himself  how  his  shoot 
ing  of  the  Missourian  differed  from  mere  murder. 

The  old  man  was  dozing  in  his  chair  when  he, 
Charlie  Heaton,  fully  armed,  came  suddenly  upon  him 
and  demanded  that  he  should  give  up  his  slaves,  who 
were  no  doubt  his  most  valuable  property — property 
moreover,  that  was  recognised  by  all  the  laws  of  the 
country.  True,  Heaton  did  not  approve  of  slavery, 
held  it  in  abhorrence  indeed,  but  there  were  other  kinds 
of  wealth  beside  slaves  amassed  by  means  of  which  he 
also  disapproved  in  a  high  degree.  He  set  up  a  law 


THE  BRAND  OF  CAIN  61 

unto  himself,,  and  because  the  man  had  refused  to  sur 
render  his  property  and  had  evinced  a  determination  to 
defend  it  Heaton  had  killed  him.  How  was  this  to  be 
distinguished  from  robbery  with  violence,  followed  by 
murder?  After  this  terrible  summing  up,  the  unhappy 
young  man  lived  over  again  in  imagination  that  awful 
moment  when  he  had  seen  the  gun  barrel  rising  and 
had  pulled  his  own  trigger,  and  the  man  had  fallen  back 
ward  on  the  floor. 

He  used  to  speculate  by  the  hour  as  to  what  had 
been  the  fate  of  the  girl  whose  wail  of  agony  would 
wake  him  at  times  out  of  the  soundest  sleep.  Had  he 
deprived  her  of  her  only  support  in  the  world?  He 
had  heard  the  men  say  there  were  only  the  two  at  the 
farm.  Certainly  he  saw  no  one  else.  But  then  he 
never  saw  even  that  grief-stricken  girl,  although*  she 
must  have  been  near  enough;  he  only  heard  her  voice. 
And  was  she  now  left  desolate,  and  by  his  hand? 

Perhaps  that  wailing  cry  which  haunted  him  so  was 
in  reality  the  source  and  origin  of  much  of  his  mental 
arguments.  His  dreams  of  following,  however  dis 
tantly,  in  the  footsteps  of  John  Brown,  and  of  freeing 
slaves  by  the  score  were  rudely  dispelled  by  that  cry 
of  despair.  To  bring  off  a  load  of  slaves  into  freedpm 
and  to  see  them  caper  with  joy  and  shout  and  clap  their 
hands  at  being  under  a  free  sky  where  no  man  might 
call  them  his  was  an  inspiriting  performance.  But  this 
was  not  what  he  had  done.  There  were  no  slaves  lib 
erated.  On  the  contrary,  those  whom  they  had  brought 
a  little  way  along  the  rough  road  to  freedom  were  back 
again  in  slavery  and  in  a  much  worse  plight  than  before, 
and  Heaton,  instead  of  inspiring  recollections,  had  only 
that  grief-stricken  cry  of  a  fatherless  girl  to  bring  back 
with  him  to  his  solitary  cabin  near  Keokuk.  He  had 
not  brought  a  single  slave  into  freedom;  he  had  carried 
desolation  to  a  happy  home. 


62  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

This,  then,  was  the  sorry  end  reached  by  an  enthu 
siast  determined  to  do  his  level  best  to  undo  a  great 
national  wrong.  It  had  one  immediate  result,  however, 
and  that  was  to  fix  him  in  a  resolution  never  again  to 
join  in  a  Jay-Hawkers'  raid.  To  do  evil  that  good  may 
come  was  one  of  those  insidious  doctrines  of  the  Romish 
Church  against  which  his  Puritan  blood  instinctively 
rebelled.  He  had  committed  a  murder  that  good  might 
result.  No  good  had  resulted,  but  only  evil,  and  the 
brand  of  Cain  was  on  his  brow.  If  the  evil  of  slavery 
was  to  be  done  away  with,  it  could  only  be  by  a  great 
national  uprising,  and  not  by  isolated  acts  of  vengeance. 
One  ride  with  the  Jay-Hawkers  had  been  enough  to 
cure  him  of  the  notion  that  their  rough  and  spasmodic 
efforts  were  going  to  do  any  permanent  good. 

Meanwhile  the  young  man  felt  a  longing  that  was 
rapidly  becoming  overmastering,  to  go  back  into  Mis 
souri  and  see  what  had  become  of  that  girl.  He  fancied 
that  if  he  could  only  hear  her  speak,  and  could  look  into 
her  face,  he  might  get  rid  of  that  wailing  cry  that  so 
constantly  pursued  and  tormented  him  both  sleeping 
and  waking.  He  had  read  in  tales  of  ancient  times  that 
when  persons  were  haunted  by  visions  they  could  best 
dispel  the  vision  by  seeing  the  actuality  of  their  fancy. 
This  idea,  which  had  at  first  merely  touched  his  fancy, 
began  erelong  to  grow  into  a  serious  project,  so  that  by 
Christmas  he  had  firmly  resolved  to  put  it  into  execu 
tion.  It  was  a  mad  scheme,  considering  the  disturbed 
state  of  the  country,  and  one  that  could  only  arise  in  a 
mind  that  had  brooded  too  long  in  loneliness  over  a 
subject  that  caused  deep  emotion.  For  Heaton  was 
emotional  in  that  quiet,  self-contained  way  which  can 
only  be  the  long  piled-up  inheritance  of  puritanically 
repressed  natures.  He  imagined  for  himself  a  whole 
series  of  pictures  of  what  had  been  and  what  was  the 
life  history  of  that  girl  whom  he  had  never  seen,  but 


' 
THE  BRAND  OF  CAIN  63 

whose  voice  he  had  heard,  and  around  that  fanciful 
image,  quite  unconsciously  to  him,  began  to  cluster 
those  little  formless  impulses  which  are  the  first  mys 
terious  guides  on  the  road  to  love.  It  must  be  remem 
bered  he  was  a  young  man,  and  he  lived  alone,  his  mind 
dwelling  continually  on  an  image  of  his  own  creation. 
The  image  became  part  of  his  daily  life  and  thought; 
he  began  to  know  it,  to  pity  it,  and  to  love  it  for  the 
very  pity  which  he  gave  it. 

And  this  man  who  was  on  the  point  of  setting  out  on 
a  search  for  an  utterly  unknown  girl  by  the  sound  of  her 
voice,  this  man  who  was  going  to  run  into  very  palpa 
ble  danger  of  losing  his  life  in  order  to  silence  a  sound 
that  existed  only  in  his  imagination,  was  Charlie 
Heaton,  the  Vermont  Puritan,  who  had  been  brought 
up  amid  the  hardest  and  most  unemotional  surround 
ings,  in  that  arid  region  of  self-satisfied  religious  ego 
tism  and  repression,  where  romance  is  shunned  as  the 
lure  of  the  evil  one,  and  love  admitted  as  an  ill  that 
must  be  borne  for  the  purposes  of  social  continuity! 
Nature  is  strong,  however,  and  has  frequently  proved  too 
powerful  for  the  bonds  of  hard  asceticism.  The  un 
used  poetry  of  the  young  man's  soul,  which  had  been 
lying  by  and  accumulating  during  his  whole  life,  now 
rushed  forth  and  took  this  romantic,  this  almost  quix 
otic  form. 

Now,  although  the  projected  trip  and  the  motive 
for  it  might  both  be  considered  devoid  of  common 
sense,  Heaton's  Vermont  nature  came  to  the  rescue  in 
assisting  him  to  work  out  the  practical  details  of  the 
scheme.  Why  he  went  was  known  but  imperfectly  even 
to  himself,  but  the  manner  of  his  going  was  sensible 
enough.  He  had  let  his  beard  grow  after  the  raid,  so 
that  by  the  middle  of  January  he  had  very  effectually 
concealed  a  handsome  mouth  and  a  pair  of  well-cut  lips. 
He  did  not  wish  to  run  the  risk  of  being  recognised  by 


f 
64:  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

any  chance  Missourian  who  might  have  seen  him  in 
the  preceding  autumn.  He  might  be  quixotic  and 
ready  to  devote  his  life  if  he  could  atone  to  the  girl 
whose  home  he  had  destroyed,  but  this  sentiment  did 
not  extend  to  the  extreme  of  letting  himself  be  shot  if 
he  could  help  it.  So  he  set  off  with  his  gun  on  his 
shoulder  and  a  chunk  of  cold  corn  bread  and  some  dried 
beef  in  his  pocket.  He  would  go  as  a  hunter  in  order 
to  give  a  peaceful  excuse  for  the  gun,  and  as  he  was 
an  exceptionally  good  walker,  the  expedition  presented 
no  great  difficulties  until  he  reached  the  border. 

Starting  due  east  from  his  little  log  cabin,,  he  skirted 
the  high  prairie  of  Keokuk,  and  kept  along  the  edge  of 
the  Big  Sugar  Creek  woods.  Occasionally  he  was  over 
taken  and  passed  by  other  wayfarers  moving  in  more 
speedy  fashion  on  horseback;  but  as  the  day  wore  on 
he  began  to  realize  that  he  was  alone  on  the  prairie. 
Considering  that  it  was  the  month  of  January,  the 
weather  might  be  said  to  be  warm,  but  it  would  be  cold 
enough  sleeping  on  the  frost-bound  ground  with  no  ex 
tra  covering,  so  he  began  to  look  out  rather  anxiously 
for  any  signs  of  human  habitation.  A  cabin  deserted 
by  one  of  the  settlers  which  the  drought  had  driven  out 
would  do  at  a  pinch,  but  he  would  prefer  an  inhabited 
cabin  with  the  attendant  possibilities  of  warmth  and 
food. 

A  thin  spiral  of  blue  smoke  which  he  detected  issu 
ing  from  the  woods  that  stretched  beneath  him  in  the 
bottom  lands  looked  hopeful,  and  he  made  for  it  with 
all  speed.  Somewhat  to  his  surprise  he  came  upon  an 
Indian  lodge  cosily  nestling  among  the  trees,  a  sight  the 
more  unexpected  as  he  imagined  the  Indians  were  all 
gone  out  of  the  country. 

A  shrill  scream,  with  a  deeper  toned  "  Ho,  ho,  ho!  " 
proclaimed  that  he  was  discovered.  Since  he  came  as 
one  asking  a  favour,  Heaton  thought  he  had  better  pro- 


THE  BRAND  OF  CAIN  65 

claim  his  peaceful  character  in  terms  not  likely  to  be 
misunderstood.  He  therefore  reversed  his  rifle,  and, 
carrying  it  butt  end  uppermost,  walked  straight  up  to 
the  entrance  of  the  wigwam. 

A  savage  face  streaked  with  red  and  yellow  and  two 
glaring  eyes  met  his  view,  as  also  the  end  of  a  flint- 
pointed  arrow.  The  young  man  nevertheless  walked 
steadily  forward,  noting  the  while  that  the  arrow  did 
not  seem  very  aggressively  aimed.  A  tall,  lanky  savage 
with  nothing  on  but  a  bead  belt  and  some  red  paint 
stepped  out  of  the  lodge,  and  Heaton  immediately  of 
fered  him  his  hand  to  shake.  The  savage  seized  his 
hand  with  a  hoarse  "  Wo,  hough  sough  kee,"  of  wel 
come,  and  immediately  three  other  persons  came  out  of 
the  wigwam.  These  likewise  shook  hands,  with  various 
grunts  expressive  of  various  degrees  of  satisfaction  at 
the  unexpected  pleasure  of  his  visit.  Heaton  put  his 
rifle  against  the  centre  pole  of  the  lodge,  and  sat  down 
with  the  family  upon  the  ground.  The  chief  savage, 
seeing  there  was  no  occasion  for  personal  prowess  in 
overcoming  an  enemy,  resumed  his  blanket,  which  the 
keen  air  made  him  draw  closely  around  his  shoulders. 
His  wife,  who  was  dressed  in  a  blue  skirt,  handed  him 
his  best  leather  gaiters  embroidered  with  porcupine 
quills,  and  then  laced  them  up  for  him.  After  this  she 
spread  over  both  men  a  warm  buffalo  robe,  and  reached 
them  down  the  calumet  of  peace,  which  the  Indian  and 
Heaton  smoked  in  turn  and  in  complete  silence. 

There  was  a  flat-faced  child  in  leather  drawers  and 
tiny  blanket  waddling  about  the  lodge,  and  he  at  once 
made  friends  with  the  visitor.  He  climbed  up  his  knees 
and  pulled  open  his  necktie,  being  seemingly  much  di 
verted  by  the  incomprehensible  way  in  which  that  arti 
cle  of  man's  adornment  elongated  itself  whenever  he 
pulled  one  end.  The  child  looked  in  vain  on  Heaton's 
fingers  for  those  rings  which  adorned  his  father's  hands 


66  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

by  the  dozen.  He  was  consoled,  however,  for  his  disap 
pointment  on  this  score  by  the  discovery  of  a  pocket 
magnifier,  and  gazed  earnestly  at  the  strange  sight  of 
his  own  dirty  finger  tips  when  magnified  fifteen  di 
ameters. 

The  squaw  roasted  several  ears  of  corn  in  the  hot 
wood  ashes,  between  two  flat  stones,  and  Heaton  offered 
some  strips  of  his  dried  beef  to  his  hosts.  Together 
they  made  a  silent  but  sustaining  meal,  and  after  supper 
he  retired  to  the  sheltered  side  of  the  tent  and  slept 
soundly  in  a  bed  of  pulled  prairie  grass  covered  by  an 
Indian  buffalo  robe.  Indians  are  supposed  to  be  treach 
erous  devils,  but  Heaton,  although  his  gun  would  have 
been  a  valuable  prize  and  his  throat  easy  to  cut  as  he 
slept,  never  experienced  a  shadow  of  uneasiness  as  he 
lay  under  the  shelter  of  the  red  man's  tent.  In  the 
morning  he  took  leave  of  his  hosts  after  an  interchange 
of  mutually  unintelligible  compliments  and  a  more  in 
telligible  gift  of  tobacco  on  his  part.  The  little  boy  ran 
after  him  and  clung  round  his  legs,  mutely  imploring 
another  look  at  the  magnifier;  and  the  mother  ran  after 
the  boy,  no  doubt  saying,  in  Indian  language,  "  You 
naughty  child,  you  mustn't  climb  up  the  gentleman's 
legs  and  muddy  his  clothes,"  as  is  the  practice  of  moth 
ers  the  world  over. 

Some  time  after  leaving  the  Indians  Heaton  over 
took  a  man  driving  an  ox  wagon,  which  is  the  slowest 
mode  of  progression  known  to  civilization.  He  was 
walking  alongside  his  team  gee-hawing  in  true  Western 
style  when  the  pedestrian  came  up  with  his  long  swing 
ing  gait.  The  opportunity  of  beguiling  a  tedious  hour 
was  too  good  to  be  lost,  so  the  man  hailed  him  with 
eagerness. 

"  Say,  stranger,  be  yer  gwine  ter  cross  the  creek, 
anyhow?  Guess  the  water's  pretty  tole'ble  high." 

"  I've  got  to  ford  it  somewhere,"  answered  Heaton. 


THE  BRAND  OF  CAIN  67 

"  Meet  ary  track  o'  Injuns?  "  asked  the  man. 

"Yes;  there  are  some  back  there/'  replied  the 
young  man,  jerking  his  thumb  over  his  shoulder. 

"Land!"  exclaimed  the  man  in  evident  alarm. 
"  Be  they  headin'  this  way?  " 

Heaton  smiled  with  some  contempt,  and  then  said: 
"  One  of  them  did  indeed  run  after  me  as  I  was  coming 
away." 

"  Hope  you  killed  him,  stranger,"  said  the  man  ear 
nestly. 

"Good  Lord,  no!"  said  Heaton  aghast.  "It  was 
only  a  little  child,  who  wanted  to  play  with  my  necktie." 

His  companion,  somewhat  ashamed,  felt  it  incum 
bent  upon  him  to  explain. 

"  I  ain't  nary  lick  afeard  o'  Injuns,"  he  remarked 
complacently,  "  on'y  I'd  ruther  keep  tracks  a  little  ways 
off  a  set  o'  salvagerous  onairthly  coons.  Keckon  ary 
one  o'  thim  comin'  this  yer  way,  stranger?  " 

"  No.  They  were  in  their  tent,  and  I  didn't  see  any 
signs  of  marching.  I  stayed  there  last  night,  had  sup 
per  with  them,  and  slept  under  one  of  their  buffalo 
robes.  They  were  as  kind  as  could  be." 

"Land  sakes,  stranger!  I'd  liefer  sleep  a  night 
'longside  o'  ten  rattlesnakes  nor  one  Injun,"  said  the 
man  in  astonishment  at  such  unheard  of  temerity. 

"  Indeed,"  remarked  Heaton  contemptuously. 

"  Calkerlate  they'll  be  some  o'  them  Kickapoos  goin' 
up  to  their  reservation.  Was  there  thund'rin'  sight  o' 
guns  'mong  'em?  Injuns  is  powerful  wicked  when  they 
has  guns." 

"  They  only  had  bows  and  arrows  as  far  as  I  could 
see." 

"  Eeckon  I  could  lick  ary  heap  o'  Injuns  with  bows 
an'  arrows  if  I  hed  as  good  a  rifle  as  yourn,"  said  the 
man,  desirous  of  regaining  the  ground  he  felt  he  might 
have  lost  in  Heaton's  good  opinion  by  his  too  mani- 


68  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

fest  exhibition  of  alarm.  He,  on  the  other  hand,  only 
anxious  to  be  rid  of  a  disagreeable  companion,  did 
not  pursue  the  subject. 

"Do  you  know  the  country  round  here?  Perhaps 
you  can  direct  me." 

"  There  ain't  nary  man  this  side  o'  Fort  Leaven- 
worth  kin  tell  you  more  names  o'  cities  nor  I  kin, 
stranger.  You  may  lay  on  that  ar,"  replied  he  with 
boastful  emphasis. 

"  I  am  going  east  toward  the  border  to  hunt  deer," 
remarked  Heaton. 

"  Thar's  more  cities  'tween  hyar  an'  the  Missouri 
border  nor  you  could  find  in  ary  'nother  airthly  spot  in 
creation,"  he  said  exultingly. 

"I  didn't  know  there  were  so  many  settlers  here. 
I  thought  the  drought  had  cleared  them  out,"  observed 
Heaton  in  some  surprise. 

"  I  didn't  say  thar  was  settlers,"  answered  the  man 
with  a  grin;  "but  thar's  a  powerful  sight  o'  cities. 
There's  Oak  City,  an'  London,  an'  Athens  plumb  ahead 
o'  yer  on  the  track  to  the  border." 

"And  how  many  settlers  might  there  be  in  Lon 
don?  "  asked  Heaton. 

"  Nary  one,  an'  never  was  one." 
:'Then  how  shall  I  know  which  is  London  and 
which  is  Athens  when  I  get  there,  if  there  are  no  set 
tlers  to  tell  me?  "  asked  Heaton  in  some  amusement. 

"Wai,  I  'low  London  City  'ull  be  easy  'nough, 
stranger.  You'll  git  thar  'bout  noon,  an'  the  trees  is 
pretty  nigh  all  blazed  'roun'  whar  the  city  is." 

"  Is  Athens  equally  well  laid  out  and  marked?  " 
"  I  reckon  Athens  hain't  got  so  far  'long  yit,  an'  it 
won't  be  so  handy  fer  yer  ter  know  it.  You'll  git  thar 
'bout  three  hours  'fore  sundown.  The  trees  ain't 
blazed,  'cause  thar  ain't  none  roun'  thar;  but  you'll  see 
whar  two  stakes  has  been  druv  inter  the  groun'.  May- 


THE  BRAND  OF  CAIN  69 

be  they  ain't  stan'in'  now.  But  that's  Athens  City.  I 
am  the  founder  of  that  city,  stranger,  an'  whar  them 
stakes  is  druv  in  is  goin'  ter  be  the  centre  of  the  city — 
jess  whar  the  store,  an'  the  post-office,  an'  the  meet- 
in'house,  an'  the  newspaper  office  is  goin'  ter  be 
'rected." 

Heaton  thanked  the  founder  of  Athens  for  his  in 
formation  and  directions  and  left  him  just  as  his  oxen, 
who  had  espied  a  deep  mudhole  on  in  front  of  them  in 
the  road,  had  begun  to  bellow  over  the  tug  and  the 
strain  and  whip  lashings  that  they  knew  were  imme 
diately  in  store  for  them.  Oxen  are  maddening  crea 
tures  to  drive.  They  are  like  slaves,  skilled  in  all  the 
tricks  and  devices  known  to  the  cunning  mind  in  order 
to  escape  work.  They  will  lie  for  hours  perfectly  mo 
tionless  in  the  long  grass,  not  even  shaking  an  ear  to 
remove  the  flies,  and  this  because  their  master  is  hunt 
ing  for  them,  and  they  know  that  head  shakes  tinkle  ox 
bells,  which  would  at  once  reveal  their  presence.  They 
move  away  when  the  yoke  is  raised  for  their  necks,  and 
when  at  last  they  are  ready  to  start  it  is  almost  a  mira 
cle  for  anything  so  big  to  go  so  slowly.  But  there 
is  something  almost  human  in  their  howling  with  an 
guish  in  anticipation  when  they  see  a  mudhole  ahead, 
out  of  which  they  know  they  must  painfully  tug  their 
load. 

The  end  of  the  second  day's  march  brought  Heaton 
well  over  the  border  into  Missouri.  He  began  to  go 
cautiously,  because  he  perceived  that  he  was  an  object 
of  suspicion  to  all  whom  he  met.  He  was  in  the  ene 
my's  country,  and  every  man  would  look  upon  him  as  a 
foe.  Therefore  he  gave  a  wide  berth  to  everything  like 
a  settlement  if  he  possibly  could.  This,  however,  was 
not  always  an  easy  thing  to  do,  and  once  he  found  him 
self  walking  right  into  a  small  village  in  full  view  of 
some  negroes  working  in  a  field,  and  this  before  he  was 


70  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

aware  that  there  were  any  houses  near.  It  was  a 
wretched  place,  with  only  two  or  three  squalid  log 
cabins  in  the  whole  settlement,  but  these  were  not  unin 
habited,  as  Heaton  soon  found  out.  He  considered  that 
his  safest  course  was  to  proceed  boldly  forward  as  if  he 
belonged  to  the  place.  This  he  set  out  to  do,  but  he 
found  that  it  required  all  his  nerve  to  walk  steadily  and 
sedately  forward  when  he  became  aware  that  two  men 
were  looking  at  him  from  behind  a  half -open  door,  and 
that  one  of  the  men  had  a  gun  in  his  hand  which  he  was 
raising  to  his  shoulder. 

Cold  chills  ran  down  his  back  as  the  young  man  real 
ized  his  position.  Nothing  on  earth  could  save  him  if 
the  men  chose  to  fire.  His  only  possible  chance  was  to 
appear  completely  at  his  ease.  He  therefore  began  to 
count  his  steps  softly  to  himself  in  order  to  make  sure 
he  was  not  unconsciously  hurrying  in  the  slightest  de 
gree. 

One.  Two.  Three.  Four.  He  wondered  would 
he  get  into  the  twenties  before  the  shot  came.  Per 
haps  he  would  be  shot  at  eleven  or  twelve.  He  counted 
steadily  on.  He  was  increasing  the  range  at  every  step 
now,  and  adding  to  his  chances  of  not  being  hit.  He 
would  have  given  worlds  to  look  back  in  order  to  see 
if  they  were  aiming  at  him.  But  he  dared  not  show 
even  this  sign  of  uneasiness. 

Twenty.  Twenty-one.  He  was  getting  into  a  long 
range  now.  He  swayed  his  body  gently,  but  irregularly, 
from  side  to  side,  as  much  as  he  dared,  in  order  to  make 
himself  a  moving  target,  if  target  he  was. 

Forty.  Forty-one.  He  must  be  pretty  near  out  of 
range.  His  heart  stopped  thumping,  and  a  cold  sweat 
came  out  on  his  forehead. 

Those  were  just  the  most  trying  steps  he  ever  re 
membered  to  have  taken  in  all  his  life.  He  walked  on 
steadily  until  a  turn  in  the  road  hid  the  houses  from 


THE  BRAND  OF  CAIN  71 

sight.  Then  he  went  and  sat  down  behind  a  tree  to 
recover  his  breath.  That  slow  walk  through  the  vil 
lage  with  those  two  men  and  their  gun  pointing  at  his 
back  had  winded  him  more  than  the  hardest  race  he 
Qver  ran. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

AUNT   MONIN'S    STORY 

AFTER  the  failure  of  her  neighbours  either  to  kill  or 
capture  her  father's  murderer  Nancy  seemed  to  wrap 
herself  up  in  a  sombre  mantle  of  her  own  sad  thoughts. 
Alone  at  the  farm,  except  for  the  companionship  of 
Aunt  Monin,  she  had  abundance  of  time  for  brooding 
over  her  desolation.  The  old  negress  offered  consola 
tion  in  her  own  peculiar  fashion,  but  it  was  not  of  a 
kind  to  be  acceptable  to  Nancy  as  yet.  She  was  a  hot- 
tempered  girl  and  a  loving  one.  Her  father,  the  only 
relative  she  had  in  the  world,  had  been  cruelly  torn 
from  her  by  a  violent  death.  The  very  strength  of  her 
love  made  her  long  for  vengeance.  She  was  so  lone 
ly,  so  desolate,  so  unhappy,  that  it  seemed  to  her  she 
would  not  feel  such  an  aching  void  in  her  heart  if  she 
could  have  her  mind  gratified  by  a  signal  vengeance. 
This  is  a  feeling  often  seen  in  crude  or  unformed  minds, 
and  Nancy's  mind  was  still  very  young.  But  hers  was  a 
strong  nature,  and  even  when  driven  by  circumstances 
into  a  false  direction  was  not  one  to  show  any  faltering 
of  purpose.  She  passionately  desired  vengeance,  and 
could  she  have  met  the  man  who  had  killed  her  father 
she  was  quite  capable  of  acting  herself  as  the  avenger  of 
blood. 

Her  nature  was  almost  masculine  in  its  fierceness. 
She  had  as  yet  none  of  the  softness  of  the  girl  in  mind, 
although  her  physical  form  was  both  soft  and  feminine 


AUNT  MONIN'S  STORY  73 

in  a  marked  degree.  Her  soul  was  unawakened,  and 
her  young  life  had  been  cast  in  rugged  lines.  Her  fa 
ther  had  been  a  stern  man,  though  a  just  one  according 
to  his  lights,  and  all  her  experience  lay  with  hardness. 
Aunt  Monin  alone  supplied  her  with  the  soft  loving  ele 
ments,  without  which  no  young  creature  can  thrive, 
while  the  young  men  who  would  fall  in  love  with  her 
were  regarded  by  her  with  indifference.  She  had  no 
petty  vanity  to  be  gratified  by  their  devotion,  for  she 
lived  very  much  isolated,  and  vanity  is  a  growth  largely 
dependent  upon  the  surroundings  of  a  girl,  and  is  not 
derived  from  her  own  inner  consciousness.  At  this 
stage  of  her  existence  Nancy  might  be  rather  looked 
upon  as  a  wild  boy,  free  in  fancy  and  in  soul,  acknowl 
edging  no  superior,  and  not  familiar  enough  with  the 
world  and  the  experience  of  others  to  know  that  one 
day  she  would  inevitably  fall  under  the  spell  of  the 
tyrannous  master  who  in  the  end  subdues  all  creatures. 
She  was  just  at  this  repellent  stage,  feeling  no  need 
of  love  other  than  that  amid  which  she  had  grown  up, 
when  she  was  overwhelmed  by  the  catastrophe  of  her 
father's  death.  Love,  crushed  out  by  that  blow,  rose 
up  again  in  bitter  hatred  toward  the  slayer  of  the  one 
person  who  was  most  dear  to  her. 

Aunt  Monin  preached  in  vain. 

"  Leave  de  vengeance  to  de  Lo'd,  Miss  Nancy,"  she 
would  say  in  reply  to  her  child's  oft  expressed  desire  to 
be  revenged  on  the  man  who  had  killed  her  father.  "  I 
will  repay,  say  de  Lo'd.  Dat  mean  de  Lo'd  he  run  down 
de  Jay-Hawkers  when  de  right  time  come.  Leave  it  all 
in  de  han's  o'  de  Lo'd." 

"  But  I  want  it  to  come  now  in  my  lifetime,"  Nancy 
would  say  fiercely. 

"  No,  bressed  chile,  yo'  mus'  leave  it  in  his  han's. 
He  choose  his  own  time  for  runnin'  'em  down.  De  ways 
o'  de  Lo'd  is  solemn  an'  slow,  dat  dey  is." 


74  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

"  I  want  it  done  now.  It  is  only  by  the  hands  of 
men  it  can  be  done.  Oh,  if  I  were  only  a  man!  " 

She  clapped  her  hands  angrily  together,  bewailing 
her  woman's  powerlessness. 

"  Yo'  white  folks,  yo'  is  mighty  impatient.  Yo' 
dunno  how  to  wait  f  o'  de  Lo'd,"  remarked  Aunt  Monin, 
shaking  her  turbaned  head  reprovingly.  "  Yo'  ain't 
larned  ter  be  patient  like  we  niggas.  We's  bin  wait  in' 
fo'  de  Lo'd  all  dese  y'ars,  Miss  Nancy,  an'  he  hain't 
come  to  us  yet.  But  we's  trustin'  in  him  all  de  while. 
He  come  by  an'  bye  fo'  shu'." 

Nancy  had  heard  such  expressions  as  these  from 
the  lips  of  her  old  nurse  all  her  life  long,  and  had  paid 
very  little  heed  to  them,  it  must  be  confessed.  It  was 
Aunt  Monin's  way  to  be  always  preaching,  and  Nancy, 
having  grown  up  with  the  preaching,  accepted  it  heed 
lessly,  like  the  rain  and  the  sunshine,  as  among  those 
things  which  were  continually  happening.  Now,  how 
ever,  her  attention  was  made  keener  by  reason  of  her 
own  suffering,  and  her  point  of  view  also  was  changed. 
Slaves  had  been  among  the  accepted  facts  of  her  life, 
although  from  a  purely  intellectual  standpoint  she  was 
very  much  inclined  to  disapprove  of  slavery,  since  it 
was  going  to  lead  to  trouble  and  unhappiness  among  the 
whites,  as  was  too  bitterly  proved  by  those  dreadful  Jay- 
Hawk  raids.  From  the  slave's  point  of  view  Nancy 
had  never  considered  the  matter  at  all.  Her  father's 
slaves  were  comfortable,  they  were  well  cared  for,  and 
she  dearly  loved  Aunt  Monin.  Surely  everybody  was 
as  happy  as  she;  Nancy  desired  them  to  be.  This  had 
been  her  heedless  philosophy  hitherto.  Now,  however, 
her  eyes  were  made  to  see  more  clearly  by  reason  of  the 
sharpening  of  vision  which  her  own  sorrow  had  brought 
about. 

Aunt  Monin's  preaching  suddenly  struck  home,  be 
cause  Nancy's  mind  was  in  a  mood  to  hear  it.  She 


AUNT  MONIN'S  STOB-Y  75 

looked  long  and  seriously  at  her  old  nurse,  as  the  mean 
ing  of  her  words  sank  slowly  into  her  mind.  Then 
there  was  something  that  the  old  slave  longed  for  be 
yond  the  physical  comforts  with  which  she  had  always 
been  surrounded.  Yet  Aunt  Monin  was  a  petted  negro, 
if  ever  there  was  one,  not  too  hard  worked,  with  plenty 
of  all  she  needed  for  her  simple  comforts.  Nancy  felt 
a  sudden  desire  to  look  into  her  mind  to  see  what  were 
its  real  thoughts  and  hopes.  She  realized  all  in  a  mo 
ment  that  she  did  not  know  this  woman  on  whose  knee 
she  had  grown  up,  so  to  speak,  and  about  whose  feelings 
and  thoughts  she  had  hitherto  been  so  carelessly  confi 
dent.  This  awakening  to  the  fact  that  one  in  whose 
daily  life  we  ourselves  share  is  living  a  life  apart  from 
us  and  of  which  we  have  no  knowledge,  not  infrequently 
creates  a  feeling  of  surprise  mingled  with  resent 
ment.  This  was  somewhat  the  case  with  Nancy,  and 
her  next  words  took  on  a  form  indicative  of  the 
feeling. 

"  Aren't  you  happy,  Aunt  Monin?  You  are  kindly 
treated,  you  have  all  you  want,  you  are  fed  and  clothed 
and  never  have  to  think  for  the  morrow.  Surely  you 
ought  to  be  completely  happy." 

"  Ya,  Miss  Nancy,  don't  yo'  know  'tain't  havin'  belly 
full  o'  corn  makes  pusson  happy?  Niggas  ain't  like 
work  oxen;  dey  wants  suthin'  mo'  nor  dat." 

"  And  I  love  you,  Aunt  Monin,"  said  Nancy  softly, 
as  if  to  herself. 

"Ah,  my  honey-chile,"  repeated  the  old  woman,  with 
quick  response  to  this  show  of  affection  on  Nancy's  part, 
"  yo'  is  de  light  o'  my  eyes.  Yo'  is  mo'  ter  me  dan  de 
whole  worl'  beside.  Aunt  Monin  love  yo'  wid  all  her 
ole  heart.  De  Lo'd  he  done  make  our  hearts  all  de 
same  way,  Miss  Nancy.  Dey  ain't  black  an'  dey  ain't 
white;  dey  all  de  same  colour  in  de  sight  o'  de  Lo'd." 

The  old  woman  fondled  her  foster  child,  taking  one 
G 


76  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

of  her  hands  between  her  own  two  and  patting  it,  while 
she  made  cooing  noises  like  a  brooding  dove. 

"  I  shouldn't  ever  want  you  to  go  away  from  me, 
Aunt  Monin,"  began  Nancy. 

"  I  ain't  agwine,  honey-chile.  Befo'  de  Lo'd  I  ain't 
nebber  gwine  ter  leave  yo',"  interrupted  Aunt  Monin 
with  passionate  earnestness. 

"  Not  even  to  be  free  ?  "  asked  Nancy,  touched  by 
her  affection,  but  still  pursuing  her  own  train  of  ideas. 

"  No,  not  even  ter  be  free.  I  wouldn't  go  an'  be 
free  an'  leave  my  honey-chile.  Nebber." 

Nancy  knew  negroes  too  well  not  to  be  able  to  dis 
count  their  statements  liberally,  but  a  sudden  thought 
struck  her  as  Aunt  Monin  uttered  her  solemn  protesta 
tion. 

"How  is  it  you  didn't  go  away  with  the  others? 
Didn't  you  know  they  thought  they  were  going  off  into 
freedom?  " 

"  Yes,  Miss  Nancy,  I  hearn  tell  all  'bout  dat.  On'y 
I  couldn't  go  'long  too.  Dey  was  startin'  for  de  Ian'  o' 
Canaan,  an'  was  a-singin'  Glory,  halleluiah!  but  my  eyes 
couldn't  foller  'em.  Dey  was  turn'  back  to  whar  yo' 
was  sittin'  in  'fliction  an'  de  han'  o'  de  Lo'd  was  heavy 
'pon  yo'.  Der  warn't  no  freedom  fo'  ole  Aunt  Monin 
so  'long  her  honey-chile  was  'bidin'  in  de  Ian'  o'  sorrow 
an'  trib'lation.  If  I  had  sot  out  on  dat  journey  inter 
de  wil'erness  I  couldn't  have  gone  furder  nor  de  clear- 
in',  'cause  my  heart  was  stayin'  behin'  wid  my  chile." 

It  was  impossible  to  doubt  the  sincerity  of  words 
spoken  with  such  deep  earnestness  of  manner,  and 
Nancy  looked  at  the  old  woman  with  a  softened  glance 
in  her  dark  eyes.  They  were  together  in  the  small  sit 
ting  room,  not  the  big  room  where  Overton  had  been 
shot,  but  in  another  one  also  opening  off  the  veranda. 
Nancy  habitually  used  this  room  now,  for  she  could  not 
bear  the  sight  of  that  other  one  with  its  terrible  memo- 


AUNT  MONIN'S  STORY  77 

ries.  Feeling  very  lonely,  she  used  to  keep  Aunt  Monin 
with  her  all  the  time  now,  and  she  used  to  talk  to  her  in 
a  fitful  sort  of  way,  just  as  the  ideas  came  into  her  head. 
It  was  during  one  of  these  disconnected  talks  that  she 
suddenly  asked  the  old  woman  one  day  how  many  chil 
dren  she  had  had. 

"  Real  children  of  your  own,  Aunt  Monin  ?  "  said 
Nancy,  idly  poking  her  needle  in  and  out  of  her  work 
without  sewing  at  all. 

"  Seventeen,  Miss  Nancy.  But  dey  warn't  real  chil- 
lun  to  me.  Dey  warn't  so  real  as  yo'  mammy,  dat  was 
my  fust,  an'  yo',  dat  was  my  las'.  De  black  chillun 
warn't  so  real  to  me  as  de  white,"  said  Aunt  Monin, 
looking  with  strange  far-away  glance  out  of  the  window, 
as  if  she  was  gazing  at  some  one  who  was  fading  from 
her  sight. 

"  Why  weren't  they  real?  "  asked  Nancy,  amused  at 
the  answer,  and  not  in  the  least  understanding  what 
Aunt  Monin  meant. 

"  'Cause  dey  all  sole  'way  South  'fore  dey  growed  up. 
I  didn't  nebber  see  nary  one  o'  them  a'ter  dey  ole  'nough 
to  peck  roun'  by  se'f ."  • 

"  Oh! "  said  Nancy  in  painful  surprise,  regretting 
that  she  had  asked  the  question.  "  Then  I  suppose  you 
were  glad  of  me  because  I  stayed;  was  that  it,  Aunt 
Monin?" 

"  De  Lo'd  give  yo'  ter  me  for  ter  save  my  soul  from 
de  sin  o'  dreadful  wickedness.  Yo'  dunno  what  awful 
sin  yo'  save  me  from  when  yo'  jess  ten  days  ole  an' 
no  mo',"  said  Aunt  Monin,  with  a  voice  hushed  in  awe 
and  reverence. 

Nancy  was  very  much  astonished  and  looked  at  her 
in  silence  for  a  moment  or  two. 

"  Tell  me  about  it,"  she  said  at  length. 

"  Better  not,  honey,"  answered  the  old  woman,  to 
Nancy's  surprise. 


78  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

"  You  must/'  said  Nancy  quickly,  too  unaccustomed 
to  have  a  slave  say  No  to  bear  it  with  equanimity,  and 
Aunt  Monin  was  too  much  accustomed  to  being  a  slave 
to  refuse  further. 

"  Yo'  was  jess  bo'n,  chile,  an'  I  had  my  own  little 
babby  gal  on'y  month  ole,  when  Mas'r  John,  yo'  daddy, 
he  done  sell  one  o'  his  nigga  women  South  'long  wid  her 
chile  to  de  dealer  for  to  work  on  de  plantation.  She 
was  call'  Mander,  an'  she  was  a  po'  schreechin'  critter, 
dre'ful  cut  up,  when  she  hearn  she  was  agwine  ter  leave 
her  ole  man  an'  her  chillun.  She  cry  an'  she  fret  all  de 
day  long,  so  her  babby  get  de  cramp  from  de  milk,  what 
all  turn  p'ison,  'cause  she  fret  so.  An'  de  babby  turn 
yaller,  den  green,  an'  die  slap  off.  Den  Mas'r  John  he 
come  a-swearin'  roun'  an'  tearin'  ebery  which  way,  'cause 
he  done  promise  to  'liver  nigga  woman  an'  chile  to  de 
dealer,  an'  he  hain't  got  no  chile  to  'liver.  Den  de  slave 
dealer  he  come  'long  too,  an'  he  swear  roun'  ebery 
which  way,  'cause  he  hain't  got  no  chile  ter  go  'long 
wid  de  woman.  He  tell  Mas'r  John  he  off  wid  de  bar 
gain'  an'  Mas'r  John  git  mad,  an'  he  come  slap  inter  de 
kitchen  an'  take  my  little  l^bby  dat  sleepin'  in  de  crib 
an'  he  give  it  to  Mander,  an'  she  war  carried  off  by  de 
slave  dealer  'fore  I  know  dat  my  babby  chile  gone." 

"Poor  Aunt  Monin!"  said  Nancy,  gently  stroking 
the  old  face  that  was  quivering  under  the  recollection  of 
that  tragedy  of  long  ago.  "  And  what  did  you  do  ?  " 

"  When  I  come  back  from  de  garden  patch  f etchin' 
de  green  corn  fo'  de  white  folks'  dinna',  I  foun'  de 
babby  gone,  an'  de  niggas  tell  me  dat  she  gone  South, 
sole  right  'way  from  me.  I  was  jess  like  de  wolf  in  de 
wil'erness  when  de  hunters  done  kill  her  cub.  Dat 
babby  war  de  las'  o'  seventeen,  an'  de  missis  she  say  I 
allers  keep  dat  one  fo'  shu'.  She  war  in  bed  an'  didn't 
know  nuffin  'bout  de  sellin'.  I  jess  leapt  inter  de  room 
whar  she  war  lyin'  with  yo'  by  her  side.  She  war  drea'- 


AUNT  MONIN'S  STORY  79 

ful  white  an'  skeery-lookin',  on'y  jess  her  eyes  burnin' 
like  coals  outer  de  fire.  I  fall  down  on  de  floor  an'  tell 
her,  an'  I  say  dat  de  curse  o'  de  Lo'd  will  fall  on  dish 
hyar  house  for  de  sin  o'  de  father.  An'  I  gone  clean 
mad  fo'  de  grief  o'  losin'  my  little  babby." 

"Aunt  Monin  was  this  the  falling  of  the  curse?" 
asked  Nancy  in  an  awe-struck  whisper. 

"  Dis  was  de  hand  o'  de  Lo'd,  chile,  dat  fall  heavy  on 
yer  father.  I  was  on'y  po'  mad  nigga  woman  talkin' 
outer  de  wickedness  o'  my  heart.  De  Lo'd  'buke  me  fo' 
my  great  sin,  but  de  Lo'd  done  take  nudder  way  to  'buke 
from  what  I  guess  he  gwine  ter.  Sinfu'  man  can't  go 
for  to  un'erstan'  de  ways  o'  de  Lo'd." 

"  Tell  me  more.  What  did  my  poor  mother  say? 
She  was  sorry  for  you,  wasn't  she  ?  "  said  Nancy  very 
softly. 

"  So  she  was,  chile.  Her  eyes  dey  got  bigger  an' 
bigger  ebbry  day,  an'  I  'lowed  it  was  de  tears  she  was 
cryin'  dat  made  'em  so  'mazin'  big  an'  shiny.  She 
didn't  git  well.  But  I  nebber  took  no  notice,  'cause  o' 
de  blin'ness  o'  my  sin  an'  rage.  De  rage  kinder  riz  up 
in  madness,  an'  I  couldn't  pray  no  mo'.  I  could  on'y 
lie  starin'  wide-' wake  an'  thinkin'  o'  de  big  carvin'  knife 
what  I  has  for  ter  kill  de  chuckins  wid  in  de  kitchen. 
Dat  carvin'  knife  I  see  befo'  my  eyes  in  blood  red,  allers. 
I  used  to  take  an'  hide  it  under  de  wood  pile  an'  try  for 
get  whar  I  done  put  it.  'Twarn't  no  sort  o'  use.  Jess 
as  soon  as  I  lie  down  'side  o'  dat  little  empty  crib  I  see 
de  carvin'  knife  'gain,  an'  de  f eelin'  come  inter  my  min' 
o'  ban's  tryin'  ter  push  me  ter  git  it  an'  draw  it  'cross 
mas'r's  throat.  Dey  was  de  han's  o'  de  debil  dat  was 
pushin'  me,  an'  it  was  de  father  o'  evil  what  was  tempt- 
in'  me  to  'venge  my  babby  by  killin'  ole  mas'r  what  sold 
her  South. 

"  One  night  it  was  dre'ful  col'  an'  snowy,  an'  I 
wrestled  wid  de  debil,  an'  call  on  de  Lo'd  to  save  me  an' 


80  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

keep  me  from  murder.  But  de  blood  madness  riz  up 
an'  blin'  me.  De  voice  o'  de  Lo'd  die  Vay.  I  on'y  hear 
Satan  temptin'  me.  I  riz  up  an'  was  gwine  for  ter  take 
dat  carvin'  knife  when  de  do'  opened  an'  a  shinin'  angel 
stan'  on  de  do'step.  I  'low  it  was  de  angel  o'  de  Lo'd 
comin'  to  take  me  slap  down  inter  hell  for  my  sinfu' 
wicked  thoughts.  I  drop  down  on  my  knees  an'  jess 
say, '  Lo'd,  have  mercy  on  de  po'  slave ! '  I  couldn't  say 
no  mo'  nor  nudder  word,  for  all  de  breath  gone  clean 
outer  my  body. 

"Den  I  hear  a  silver-sweet  voice  say:  'Po'  Aunt 
Monin,  hyar  is  my  babby  chile,  Nancy;  I  give  her  to  yo' 
for  yer  own  babby,  'stead  o'  de  one  I  promise'  yo'  nebber 
to  sell  'way  from  yo'.  Take  her,  Aunt  Monin,  an'  keep 
her  always,  an'  love  her  jess  like  she  was  yer  own  little 
babby.'  Den  she  lay  de  little  white  chile  in  my  arms, 
an'  it  put  its  little  mouth  up  an'  suck  at  de  po'  nigga 
woman's  breast.  Den  de  madness  go  'way  from  my 
eyes,  an'  I  don't  nebber  see  de  carvin'  knife  no  mo',  on'y 
hear  de  silver-sweet  voice  o'  de  angel  o'  de  Lo'd  sayin': 
'  Take  her,  Aunt  Monin,  an'  keep  her  an'  love  her,  jess 
like  yer  own  little  babby." 

Aunt  Monin's  voice  sunk  into  a  deep  whisper. 
Nancy  was  sobbing  softly. 

"  It  was  my  poor  mother  came  that  night  through 
the  snow  to  comfort  you." 

"  Chile,  it  was  de  angel  o'  de  Lo'd.  It  wasn't  no 
mortal  woman  pass  through  de  snow  dat  winter  night. 
She  was  shinin'  bright  an'  jess  as  white  as  de  snow  itse'f 
when  she  stan'  in  de  do'  o'  de  sinfu'  slave  woman  what 
she  come  to  save.  Dese  eyes  o'  mine  seen  de  glory  o' 
de  Lo'd  on  dat  night,  an'  my  ears  has  heard  de  voice  o' 
de  angel  o'  de  Lo'd  speakin'  to  me.  She  go  straight  up 
to  heaven  from  de  nigga  woman's  cabin.  In  de  gray 
o'  de  mo'nin',  'fore  de  sun  was  up,  dey  foun'  yo'  po' 
mother  dead,  lyin'  white  an'  still  in  her  bed,  an'  de  little 


AUNT  MONIN'S  STORY  81 

babby  chile  she  done  give  ter  me  was  warm  an'  cuddlin' 
close  up  to  de  po'  slave  woman's  bosom.  Dat  was  de 
way  de  Lo'd  'p'inted  to  'venge  my  lost  babby,  Miss 
Nancy,  an7  nebber  like  de  sinfu'  wicked  way  I  wanted 
ter  'venge  it,  by  wicked  murder  dat  'ud  sen'  me  inter 
ev'lastin'  torment. 

"  When  dish  ole  nigga  woman  die  now,  she's  gwine 
ter  heaven  ter  meet  'gain  de  angel  o'  de  Lo'd,  an'  she 
hear  'gain  dat  silver-sweet  voice  speakin'  to  her  once 
mo'.  An'  it  say,  i  Well  done,  Aunt  Monin,  thou  good 
an'  faithfu'  servant! '  I  meet  all  my  lost  chillun  an' 
live  for  evermo'  an'  rejoice  in  de  Lo'd.  De  ways  o'  de 
Lo'd  ain't  de  same  as  our  po'  sinfu'  ways,  Miss  Nancy. 
Leave  de  vengeance  ter  him  ter  do  it  in  his  own  good 
time." 

Aunt  Monin's  story  sunk  deep  into  Nancy's  heart. 
She  was  affected  at  the  time  by  the  old  woman's  pa 
thetic  tale  and  the  thought  of  all  that  she  must  have 
suffered.  But  it  was  not  a  mere  stirring  of  the  surface 
of  her  feelings,  an  effect  to  disappear  in  a  day.  In 
stead  of  the  dark,  brooding  desire  for  vengeance,  there 
now  came  into  her  mind  another  thought,  that  of  her 
poor  young  mother  in  the  last  hour  of  her  life  walking 
through  the  snow  to  comfort  the  sorrowing  slave. 
Nancy  did  not  regard  this  event  from  the  scientific 
standpoint,  as  the  case  of  a  fever  patient,  who  in  her 
delirium  slips  away  and  hurries  on  her  death  during 
the  careless  sleep  of  the  nurse  supposed  to  be  watching 
her.  Some  of  Aunt  Monin's  religious  and  mystical  fer 
vour  was  imbibed  by  her  foster  child.  The  gift  of  the 
little  white  baby  to  replace  the  black  one  that  had  been 
so  cruelly  lost  was  an  expiatory  gift.  And  she,  Nancy, 
was  that  child.  She  had  been  given  by  her  dying  moth 
er  to  comfort  a  grief-stricken  slave's  heart.  As  she  pon 
dered  over  this,  some  of  the  spirit  of  that  dead  mother 
seemed  to  instil  into  her  mind.  She  had  never  known 


82  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

anything  about  her.  Her  father,  who  had  been  tender 
ly  attached  to  his  wife,  couldn't  bear  to  speak  of  her, 
and  so  Nancy  had  grown  up  without  any  mother  influ 
ence  at  all.  Her  mother  was  not  a  memory,  she  was 
not  even  an  imagined  picture;  she  was  nothing,  she 
did  not  exist  in  her  daughter's  imagination  at  all.  Now 
suddenly  she  appeared  before  Nancy's  mental  vision  in 
this  dramatic  way — a  shining  angel  of  pity  standing  in 
the  lowly  negro  cabin  with  her  babe  in  her  arms.  How 
great  must  have  been  her  love  for  the  slaves,  and  how 
immense  her  desire  to  comfort  and  console,  when  she 
gave  her  only  little  free-born  baby  as  a  healing  gift  to 
the  distracted  slave  mother! 

As  Nancy's  mind  dwelt  on  this  image  of  her  un 
known  mother  some  of  the  influences  which  had  prompt 
ed  the  parent  seemed  now  at  work  upon  the  daughter's 
mind.  She  had  been  given  in  expiation,  she  had  been 
dedicated  almost  at  birth  to  comfort  the  slave's  heart. 
How  had  she  fulfilled  this  high  mission?  Of  course  she 
loved  Aunt  Monin,  because  Aunt  Monin  was  associated 
with  all  her  childish  memories  of  love  and  cuddling  af 
fection,  but  that  was  a  mere  every-day  return  for  ordi 
nary  human  love.  Any  other  foster  child  who  had  a 
warm-hearted  nature  would  have  done  the  same.  Was 
not  her  mission  something  higher  and  greater  than 
this?  A  whole  train  of  new  thoughts  and  vague  as 
pirations  rushed  into  Nancy's  mind  by  the  door  which 
Aunt  Monin's  story  of  her  mother's  last  act  had 
opened  upon  her.  An  army  of  generous  emotions 
took  possession  of  her  and  drove  out  that  dark  tribe 
of  hate  and  vengeance  which  hitherto  had  entirely 
occupied  her  soul.  The  mother  spirit,  which  had 
culminated  in  the  offering  up  of  her  own  child,  now 
succeeded  to  the  father  spirit,  which  had  hitherto 
dominated  Nancy's  mind  and  tended  to  make  her  a 
hard,  uncompromising,  and  somewhat  repellent  young 


AUNT  MONIN'S  STORY  83 

woman.  The  softening,  womanizing  influence  came 
over  her  soul,  awakening  new  emotions,  and  resting 
with  the  divine  touch  upon  her  young  nature.  She 
would  give  herself  to  the  work  that  had  been  begun  by 
her  mother's  dying  act.  She  would  be  the  comfort  of 
the  slave.  There  was  no  cold  debating  of  the  rights 
and  wrongs  of  the  proposition;  no  weighing  the  disad 
vantages  against  the  advantages  of  slavery.  Nancy  was 
not  a  creature  of  brain  and  calculation;  she  was  a  warm 
hearted  passionate  girl,  into  whose  life  there  had  never 
come  any  crisis  until  that  awful  one  of  her  father's 
death,  which  went  near  to  turning  the  sweetness  of  her 
nature  into  bitterness  and  gall.  But  she  was  saved 
from  being  a  bitter,  hating  woman  by  her  dead  mother, 
and  by  the  same  act,  too,  which  had  saved  poor  old  Aunt 
Monin  from  the  deadly  sin  of  murder  and  bloody  venge 
ance.  Not  by  hate,  but  by  love,  is  the  world  to  be  re 
generated.  The  simple  old  negress  out  of  the  suffering 
of  her  life  had  learned  this  lesson,  and  was  content  to 
walk  her  road  in  earnest  trustfulness.  Slaves  seldom 
feel  the  impulse  to  act.  The  most  their  life  has  taught 
them  is  to  suffer  uncomplainingly.  A  free  person  of 
generous  emotions  is  not  satisfied  with  this  negative 
state,  but  tries  to  act  in  accordance  with  his  best  aspira 
tions,  and  is  not  content  to  sit  still  with  folded  hands, 
if  there  is  something  he  feels  ought  to  be  done.  Nancy's 
nature  was  of  this  active  creative  kind.  Her  new  en 
thusiasm  was  not  content  to  limit  itself  to  seeing  that 
her  negroes  had  enough  to  eat  and  were  properly  housed. 
Her  quick  imagination  leaped  forward  to  something 
greater  and  nobler  than  that  mere  brutish  ideal. 

They  must  be  free. 

It  was  characteristic  of  her  hot  impulsive  nature 
that,  having  once  reached  this  determination,  all 
Nancy's  thoughts  and  all  her  energies  should  be  turned 
toward  accomplishing  the  practical  execution  of  the 


84  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

scheme.  It  was  not  such  an  easy  task  as  might  be  im 
agined  by  those  who  have  never  lived  amid  slavery.  It 
was  not  sufficient  for  her  to  say  to  her  bondsmen:  "  Be 
free.  Ye  are  mine.  I  bestow  freedom  upon  you." 
That  would  be  a  mere  mockery  of  liberty  so  long  as  she 
let  them  remain  in  a  slave  State,  where  at  any  moment, 
by  some  whirligig  of  revised  laws,  they  might  be  re 
duced  again  to  slavery.  She  must  take  them  away  and 
start  them  in  life  under  a  free  sky  and  on  a  free  soil. 

The  new  spirit  working  in  Nancy  did  not  remain 
without  giving  signs  of  itself  and  of  the  change  that 
was  going  forward  in  her  mind.  About  a  month  after 
her  father's  death  there  came  the  news  that  a  Missouri 
raid  had  taken  place  in  Kansas,  in  which  some  Free- 
soil  men  had  been  killed.  Nancy  felt  none  of  the  fierce 
satisfaction  at  this  intelligence  which  would  have  been 
hers  in  the  earlier  and  unregenerate  days  of  her  sorrow. 
She  listened  sadly  to  the  account  supplied  by  Mr.  Oliver, 
a  loquacious  neighbour,  who  magnified  the  prowess  of 
the  Missourians.  She  made  no  comment.  Then  he 
told  her  how  they  had  succeeded  in  recapturing  some 
slaves  who  had  been  run  off  some  months  previously, 
and  how  these  were  brought  back  in  triumph  to  their 
former  masters. 

When  Nancy  heard  this  her  heart  overflowed  with 
the  pity  born  of  its  new  impulses. 

"Oh,  I  am  so  sorry!"  she  said.  "Poor  creatures, 
how  hard  on  them!  And  after  they  had  been  free  for 
nearly  a  year!  It  was  cruel." 

"  Wai,  Miss  Nancy,"  exclaimed  the  man,  amazed  at 
such  language  from  the  lips  of  a  slave  owner,  "  yer  own 
niggers  was  run  off,  an'  you  had  oughter  be  glad  when 
the  black  cusses  is  cotched." 

"  I'm  not  glad.  I'm  sorry,  very  sorry,  when  any 
poor  creature  struggling  for  freedom  is  again  cap 
tured." 


AUNT  MONIN'S  STORY  85 

Her  cheeks  flushed  and  her  eyes  flashed.  Mr.  Oliver 
looked  at  her  admiringly  through  his  narrow  gray-green 
eyes,  although  he  disapproved  in  a  high  degree  of  her 
dangerous  sentiments. 

"  Wai,  if  them's  yer  'pinions  I  guess  yer'd  better  be 
makin'  tracks  for  Kansas  mighty  peart.  If  yo'  was  a 
man,  Miss  Nancy,  I  'low  yo'  wouldn't  be  let  live  long 
in  this  hyar  country  with  them  dog-gauned  Free-soil 
idees." 

"  I  am  going  to  proclaim  my  opinions  aloud  where  I 
like  and  when  I  like,"  said  Nancy,  who  was  human 
enough  to  have  her  views  on  the  subject  made  quite 
clear  to  her  mind  by  a  little  opposition.  "  I  hate  slav 
ery.  I  hate  all  connected  with  slavery,  and  I  have  good 
reason  to  do  so.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  slavery  my  fa 
ther  would  have  been  alive  and  well  to-day,  and  I 
shouldn't  be  alone  in  the  world."  Converts  are  pro 
verbially  keen  for  their  faith,  and  Nancy  spoke  with 
all  the  zeal  of  a  young  convert. 

"  Wai,  I  swan!  "  exclaimed  the  man  in  dismay;  "  if 
yo'  ain't  gone  an'  turned  ab'lishionist,  right  hyar  in 
Missouri,  too!  Golly  Ned!  " 

"  If  I  had  my  way  every  slave  should  be  free  to 
morrow,"  said  Nancy  with  passionate  recklessness. 

"  An'  the  country  plumb  ruined  the  next,"  said  Mr. 
Oliver  quickly. 

"  It  will  be  worse  ruined  by  slavery  than  by  any 
thing  else,  even  a  famine;  that's  what  I  think,"  said 
Nancy. 

"  Wai,  I  guess  we'll  kinder  scoot  'long  a  while  as  we 
are,"  he  replied  with  some  contempt.  "  I'm  powerful 
glad  women  hain't  got  no  rights  yet  a  while,  Miss 
Nancy — by  gosh,  I  am!  " 

"  You  are  afraid  we  might  set  the  slaves  free,"  said 
Nancy  with  a  flash  of  her  black  eyes. 

The  man  turned  to  go  and  had  ridden  a  few  paces 


86  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

down  the  road  when  he  came  back  again  and  drew 
up  close  to  where  Nancy  still  was  standing. 

"  Look  hyar,"  he  said  with  considerable  sharpness 
of  manner,  "  doan't  you  go  now  an'  try  an'  come  yer 
Yankee  Free-soil  bosh  over  the  young  men  roun'  hyar. 
They're  jess  plumb  mad  'bout  yer,  an'  would  swaller  any 
lies  you  handed  'em  to  eat.  We  men  folks  ain't  a-goin' 
to  have  our  boys  primed  up  with  Yankee  lies.  An'  if 
you  light  out  on  that  trail  we'll  'scort  yer  out  o'  Missouri 
pretty  all-fired  quick,  I  can  tell  you." 

His  blood  was  up  and  he  was  angry,  but  then  her 
blood  was  up  too,  and  she  was  also  angry.  Moreover, 
she  was  a  Missouri  girl,  and  not  the  meekest  of  her  sex 
in  the  State,  either. 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  threat,  sir.  Southern  men 
often  boast  of  their  chivalry.  I  guess  I'll  remember 
this  specimen  of  it.  You  threaten  to  hunt  a  girl  out 
of  the  place  where  she  was  born  just  because  of  her 
opinions,  and  she  an  orphan  with  no  one  on  earth  to 
protect  her!  I  guess  I'll  lay  in  a  rifle  for  this  winter, 
and  I'll  ask  the  first  man  I  come  across  to  teach  me 
how  to  use  it.  Then  I'll  be  ready  for  you  Missouri 
gentlemen  when  you  come  along  to  hunt  me  out  of 
house  and  home,  just  as  if  I  was  a  wolf  or  a  mad 
dog." 

Mr.  Oliver's  sallow  cheek  took  on  a  muddy  sort  of  a 
blush  as  he  slunk  back  from  Nancy's  biting  words. 

"You  gals'  tongues  is  'bout  as  full  o'  p'ison  as  a 
copperhead,  I  reckon."  He  fairly  turned  tail  and 
galloped  off  before  Nancy  could  say  anything  more,  so 
afraid  was  he  of  her  stinging  taunts. 

Aunt  Monin  was  standing  within  the  shadow  of  the 
doorway,  her  black  face  shining  with  enjoyment. 

"  Lordy,  Miss  Nancy,  it  done  me  good  on  de  inside 
for  ter  hear  yo'  talk  to  him.  Guess  he  won't  come  roun' 
this  er  way  for  ter  drive  yo'  out  o'  dish  hyar  house.  Dar 


AUNT  MONIN'S  STORY  87 

ain't  nary  man  in  de  whole  county  as  aren't  af eerd  o'  de 
tongue  o'  de  pretty  gal  wid  eyes  as  black  as  pear  pips  an' 
cheeks  as  red  as  roses.  Dey  run  from  de  snap  o'  yo3 
eyes  sooner  dey  would  from  de  crack  o'  de  Jay-Hawker's 
rifle." 


CHAPTEE   IX 

AUNT    MONIN'S    FKEEDOM 

NANCY  had  determined  to  free  her  negroes,  and  she 
set  about  it  with  characteristic  energy  and  promptitude. 
Her  encounter  with  her  neighbour  Mr.  Oliver  only 
served  to  hurry  on  her  decision.  It  was  the  very  next 
morning,  when  she  and  Aunt  Monin  were  together  in 
the  little  sitting  room,  that  she  unfolded  her  determina 
tion  to  the  latter.  Aunt  Monin  was  working  at  a  patch 
work  quilt  of  gorgeous  colours,  while  she  sat  near  the 
fireplace,  where  a  couple  of  logs  of  mighty  bulk  were 
smouldering  away  in  the  lavish  fashion  known  only  on 
a  timber  farm  that  wanted  clearing.  The  pale  Novem 
ber  sun  crept  disconsolately  through  the  window  pane 
and  lay  in  ineffectual  yellow  patches  upon  the  white 
boarded  floor.  It  gave  little  heat,  but  indicated  a 
friendly  intention,  so  that  the  dog  went  and  lay  in  the 
patch,  preferring  what  he  considered  sun  warmth  de 
rived  from  the  outside  to  the  baking  heat  of  the  glowing 
embers  on  the  hearth.  The  cat  preferred  the  fire  heat, 
being  of  a  feminine  nature,  pleased  with  warmth  and 
not  particularly  addicted  to  the  delights  of  outdoor  life. 

Nancy  was  there  too,  with  some  work  on  her  lap,  but 
she  was  not  plying  her  needle.  She  was  thinking,  and 
occasionally  she  turned  her  glance  from  the  fire  to  the 
wrinkled  old  face  of  the  negress  placidly  intent  on  her 
work.  Apart  from  the  eyes,  which  are  extremely  full 
of  life  and  expression,  a  negro's  face  does  not  indicate 
88 


AUNT  MONIN'S  FREEDOM  89 

the  varying  moods  of  the  mind  to  the  same  extent  as  do 
the  features  of  a  white  person.  Their  black  faces  be 
come  more  akin  to  those  of  the  lower  animals,  and  one 
must  see  their  eyes  in  order  to  read  the  face;  just  as  one 
must  see  a  dog's  eyes  in  order  to  understand  at  all  what 
is  going  forward  in  the  canine  mind.  As  Nancy  looked 
at  the  old  face  she  wondered  whether  the  twin  powers 
of  suffering  and  of  enjoyment  were  still  alive  in  Aunt 
Monin — for  they  always  reside  together — or  whether  in 
the  anguish  of  her  younger  days  her  finer  feelings  and 
capacities  had  been  blunted  and  worn  out.  She  seemed 
so  content  now,  so  peacefully  happy,  perhaps  the  day 
was  passed  when  she  could  be  stirred  to  great  joy  and 
delight  in  anything. 

So  Nancy  looked  and  pondered,  and  Aunt  Monin 
stitched  her  red  and  yellow  and  blue  bits  of  stuff  to 
gether  to  make  her  patchwork  quilt. 

"  Aunt  Monin,"  said  Nancy,  going  up  to  her  and 
laying  her  hand  on  the  shoulder  upon  which  she  had  so 
often  been  carried  when  a  baby,  "  what  should  you  say 
if  I  gave  you  your  freedom?  " 

Aunt  Monin  dropped  her  work,  took  a  deep  breath, 
but  did  not  speak  for  a  moment  or  two.  Then  she  said: 

"  It  would  be  de  secon'  time  de  Lo'd  show  me  'spe 
cial  marcy  by  yer  han',  Miss  Nancy.  Yo'  bin  de  bless- 
in'  o'  my  life  from  de  fust  day  yo'  born." 

Two  great  tears  fell  upon  the  patchwork  quilt. 

"  Then,  Aunt  Monin,  you  shall  be  free,"  said  Nancy 
in  a  solemn  voice,  not  without  emotion. 

"  Glory,  halleluiah:  "  cried  the  old  woman,  jumping 
to  her  feet  and  clapping  her  hands  excitedly  together. 
"  My  eyes  has  seen  de  glory  o'  de  comin'  o'  de  Lo'd. 
I'se  agwine  ter  be  free!  I'se  agwine  ter  be  free!  Neb- 
ber  be  slave  no  mo'!  Glory,  halleluiah!  " 

She  capered  ecstatically  about  the  room,  winding 
herself  up  in  her  reel  of  cotton  the  while,  until  the 


90  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

numerous  threads  began  to  entangle,  and  at  length 
brought  her  to  a  standstill.  Her  great  eyes  were  shin 
ing  with  tears.  Nancy's  speculations  were  fully  and 
promptly  answered;  the  power  of  deriving  enjoyment 
was  not  dead  in  Aunt  Monin.  Never  was  a  human 
being  more  full  of  it  than  was  that  old  woman  wildly 
dancing  around  the  room,  shouting  and  singing*  with 
triumph  and  joy.  When  she  stopped  at  last,  wound 
up  in  her  own  thread,  her  young  mistress  went  over  to 
a  small  table  under  the  window  and  wrote  out  what  she 
flattered  herself  was  a  very  legal  document,  beginning, 
"  I,  Nancy  Overton,  being  sole  owner  of  Aunt  Monin, 
my  slave,  do  hereby  give  and  endow  her  with  freedom." 
She  signed  and  dated  her  paper  and  imagined  she  had 
done  the  thing  in  style.  Of  course,  being  unwitnessed, 
it  was  worth  about  as  much  as  an  old  newspaper  wrap 
per,  but  this  Nancy  didn't  know. 

"  Here,  Aunt  Monin;  take  this.  Now  you  are  a 
free  woman,  as  free  as  I  am,"  said  Nancy.  • 

Aunt  Monin  took  the  paper  upside  down  and  looked 
inquiringly  at  it. 

"  What  dish  hyar,  Miss  Nancy?  "  she  asked. 

"  Your  charter  of  freedom.  I've  set  you  free.  You 
can  go  where  you  like  and  do  what  you  like  now,"  said 
Nancy,  looking  at  her  with  shining  eyes.  She  felt  ex 
cited.  It  seemed  a  momentous  crisis.  She  was  begin 
ning  to  pick  up  the  task  bequeathed  to  her  by  her 
mother,  and  to  perform  her  part  in  the  great  work  of 
her  life. 

"  Fse  free  nigga  an'  can  do  what  I  like?  "  said  Aunt 
Monin,  desirous  of  having  a  perfectly  correct  idea  of  her 
new  position. 

"  Yes.     You  are  free.     You  can  do  what  you  like." 

"  Den  I  stay  'long  o'  yo'  allers,"  said  the  old  woman 
with  emphasis,  at  the  same  time  tossing  the  paper  into 
the  fire  with  the  remark,  "  I  ain't  gwine  ter  stuff  dat  ar 


AUNT  MONIN'S  FREEDOM  91 

paper  inter  my  dress  for  ter  get  los'  an'  mixed  up,  so  I 
can't  fin'  my  thimble  nohow." 

Nancy  looked  at  her  with  a  gasp  of  surprise. 

"  I  thought  you  wanted  to  be  free/'  she  said  in  a 
puzzled  tone. 

"  I  does  so,  my  bressed  lamb.  I'se  got  mighty  long- 
in'  ter  be  free,  so  I  can  allers  stay  'long  o'  yo',  chile." 

"  But  then  it  won't  make  any  difference  if  you  stay 
with  me  just  as  you  were  before,"  said  Nancy,  at  a  loss 
to  understand  the  old  woman's  position. 

"  No,  honey-chile,  der's  heap  o'  differ'nce.  Now  I 
stay  'long  o'  yo'  allers,  'cause  I'se  free  nigga,  an'  I  work 
for  yo';  an'  bimeby  I  min'  yer  little  babbies  for  yo'. 
An'  I  live  an'  die  happy  ole  woman,  'cause  I'se  free." 

"  And  what's  the  difference  between  that  and  being 
my  slave  ?  "  inquired  Nancy  with  a  smile. 

"  Heap  sight  differ'nce.  When  yo'  marry,  honey- 
chile,  yer  mas'r  might  want  ter  sell  me  South  Vay  from 
yo',  an'  yo'  couldn't  do  nuffin  for  ter  help  me,  jess  as  yo' 
po'  mammy  couldn't  do  nuffin  for  ter  save  my  little 
babby  girl.  But  now  I'se  free  nigga,  I  stay  'long  o'  yo' 
allers,  an'  can't  nebber  be  sole  South." 

Nancy's  eyes  filled  with  tears  when  she  fully  under 
stood  the  train  of  reasoning  which  was  actuating  her 
old  nurse. 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  you  shall  want  to  stay?  "  she 
said.  "  By  and  bye  it  may  be  different,  and  you  will 
want  to  go  away." 

"  No,  no;  Aunt  Monin  nebber  go.  Lordy,  chile,  po? 
ole  Aunt  Monin  'ud  be  lonely  in  heaven  without  her 
honey-chile  was  dar  too." 

She  flung  her  arms  around  her  foster  child  and 
kissed  her  passionately.  Mother  love  could  not  be 
stronger  than  was  the  affection  which  bound  Aunt 
Monin  to  the  white  fosterling  who  had  been  given  to  her 
to  replace  her  own  lost  child. 
7 


92  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

Fully  determined  now  upon  her  course  of  action, 
Nancy  was  sufficiently  acquainted  with  the  feeling  of 
her  neighbours  to  know  that  she  must  keep  her  plans  to 
herself.  If  it  once  got  abroad  that  she  was  going  to  set 
her  negroes  free,  a  storm  would  be  raised  that  might 
very  possibly  result  in  driving  her  out  of  the  country 
and  them  into  deeper  bondage  down  South.  The  great 
fever  heat  of  the  war  was  rising  to  the  country's  brain, 
and  the  patient  was  restless  and  turbulent.  Nancy 
was  already  a  suspected  person,  and  she  had  to  act  with 
a  degree  of  caution  and  secrecy  very  foreign  to  her  na 
ture  and  to  her  age.  She  did  not  dare  talk  over  her  proj 
ect  with  any  one,  not  even  with  Aunt  Monin.  If  once 
the  negress  heard  of  what  she  intended,  there  was  an 
end  of  secrecy.  She  must  keep  her  own  counsel  until 
the  last  moment,  and  not  let  them  know  they  were 
bound  for  Kansas  until  they  were  on  the  point  of  start 
ing.  Then  she  might  dare  tell  them,  for  their  own 
sense  of  personal  implication  in  a  dash  for  freedom 
would  teach  them  to  be  quiet  and  not  to  jeopardize 
their  chances  by  premature  boasting.  But  until  that 
moment  arrived  she  must  keep  her  plans  to  herself. 

Another  reason  why  Nancy  wished  to  leave  the 
country  was  the  fact  that  James  Harte  was  still  in  it. 
Of  all  her  admirers  he  was  the  most  persistent  and  the 
one  she  found  it  hardest  to  deal  with.  He  was  a  fierce- 
tempered,  wild  young  fellow  whom  every  one  dreaded, 
and  one  whom  she  emphatically  wished  to  keep  at  arm's 
length,  and  he  was  just  the  one  who  pushed  himself  into 
her  life  whether  she  would  or  no.  He  was  brave  to 
recklessness,  with  that  courage  which  has  given  an  evil 
reputation  to  the  men  who  first  peopled  the  new  terri 
tories.  He  was  a  law  unto  himself,  and  he  enforced  his 
law  by  his  personal  courage.  Nancy  was  a  courageous 
girl,  but  she  sometimes  felt  fairly  afraid  of  James  Harte. 
She  knew  the  day  would  come  when  he  would  ask  her  to 


AUNT  MONIN'S   FREEDOM  93 

be  his  wife.  She  knew  also  that  she  would  refuse  him, 
and  her  heart  beat  with  apprehension  to  think  what 
might  follow  then.  He  had  not  in  so  many  words  de 
clared  himself  yet,  but  he  had  done  so  in  deeds,  and 
Nancy  could  not  possibly  remain  blind  to  the  motives 
which  brought  him  so  frequently  to  her  lonely  house. 
He  had  constituted  himself  her  protector,  as  it  were,  and 
used  to  look  in  at  all  times  of  the  day  just  to  see  if  she 
was  safe,  he  said.  He  was  genuinely  in  love  with  her, 
and  was  also  very  uneasy  about  the  defenceless  position 
in  which  she  now  found  herself. 

"  Nancy,  you  hadn't  ought  to  stay  here  alone.  It 
isn't  safe,"  he  said  one  day,  not  for  the  first  time  by  any 
means. 

"  I  don't  think  any  harm  will  come  to  me,"  she  re 
plied,  with  an  apparent  confidence  that  was  not  alto 
gether  consistent  with  the  state  of  her  mind,  and  was 
certainly  not  justified  by  the  state  of  the  country. 

"  Just  fancy  now,  if  another  of  those  Jay-Hawk 
raids  should  come  this  way.  You  can  never  know  when 
they'll  come,  nor  where  they'll  strike." 

"  I  should  free  my  slaves  at  once  and  welcome,"  said 
Nancy  with  some  exultation.  "  The  Jay-Hawkers 
wouldn't  attack  defenceless  women." 

"  Jay-Hawkers  are  no  better  than  regular  bush 
whackers,  and  downright  scoundrels  too,"  said  Harte 
in  reply.  "  I  shouldn't  think  you  needed  to  be  re 
minded  that  they  do  sometimes  attack  defenceless  peo 
ple." 

"  That  was  a  wicked  man,"  said  Nancy  in  sudden 
agitation.  For  all  her  new  enthusiasm  in  the  slaves 
she  had  not  advanced  far  enough  to  be  able  to  forgive 
her  father's  murderer.  "  I'll  never  believe  that  he 
came  only  to  free  the  slaves." 

"  Would  you  know  him  again  if  you  saw  him? " 
asked  Harte. 


94:  THE  JAY-HAWKEHS 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  should.  I  feel  sure  that  I  would 
have  some  instinctive  aversion  toward  him,  and  that 
something  would  tell  me  if  he  ever  was  to  come  near 
me/'  replied  Nancy.  "  I  hope  I  never  shall  meet  him, 
for  I  don't  like  to  think  what  I  might  be  led  to  do/7 

"  Well,  I  should  like  to  meet  him,"  muttered  the 
young  man.  "  I  shouldn't  have  any  doubts  as  to  what 
I  should  do.  Now,  as  near  as  you  can  remember,  what 
was  he  like?" 

"  He  was  tall." 

"And  dark?" 

"  I  think  so,  but  I  don't  feel  sure.  There  was  not 
much  light  in  the  room,  and  I  didn't  look  at  him.  It 
was  all  so  fearfully  quick,  and  afterward  the  room  was 
full  of  smoke." 

"  Had  he  any  mustache?  " 

"  I  feel  sure  not.  I  think  I  remember  noticing  his 
mouth  when  he  first  spoke,"  said  Nancy,  with  manifest 
reluctance.  It  was  a  deeply  painful  subject  to  her,  and 
one  about  which  she  never  spoke  unless  absolutely  com 
pelled  to  do  so.  The  feeling  that  perhaps,  after  all,  it 
was  the  falling  of  the  curse,  and  that  her  father's  death 
was  in  some  measure  expiatory,  made  her  all  the  more 
anxious  never  to  bring  the  subject  before  the  minds  of 
other  people. 

"  There  was  a  coon  out  there  in  that  dispute  we  had 
at  the  Osage  Fork,"  continued  Harte,  "  I  guessed  he 
was  the  man,  and  I  sighted  on  him  three  times;  but 
every  time  I  got  the  drop  on  him  some  cuss  came  be 
tween  and  spoiled  my  aim.  I  wasn't  sure  I  ever  hit  him 
at  all." 

"  I  am  glad  you  did  not,"  said  Nancy  in  reply  to 
this  communication. 

"  What!  and  he  might  be  your  father's  murderer! " 
exclaimed  ITarte. 

"  Then  you  see  he  might  have  been  quite  another 


AUNT  MONIN'S  FREEDOM  95 

man.  I  have  a  horror  of  this  sort  of  killing  going  on — 
men  avenging  crimes  on  the  wrong  people,  and  it  going 
on  and  on  until  we  are  in  a  regular  war,  with  neighbours 
killing  one  another.  Oh,  it  is  a  horrible  thought!  " 
said  Nancy  with  a  shudder.  She  could  not  speak  to 
Harte  or  to  any  other  person  about  that  feeling  in  re 
gard  to  her  father's  death  which  was  growing  upon  her, 
and  which  was  not  so  much  the  result  of  thought  as  of 
a  morbid  imagination. 

"  Folks  are  talking  a  lot  about  war  round  here  now," 
remarked  her  visitor.  "  They're  saying  'tis  got  to  come 
to  that  pretty  soon  now.  The  South  ain't  going  to 
stand  Lincoln's  election  as  easy  as  some  folks  think." 

"  Then  it  will  be  the  vengeance  of  the  Lord  for  the 
sin  of  slavery,"  said  Nancy. 

"  Bosh!  "  said  Harte  vigorously. 

"  Aunt  Monin  often  says  the  time  is  coming  near 
when  we  shall  see  signs  and  wonders." 

"  Land  o'  Goshen,  Nancy,  you  ain't  going  to  listen 
to  the  stuff  an  old  nigger  woman  tells  you!  "  exclaimed 
Harte,  with  sturdy  masculine  incredulity.  "  Niggers 
have  been  always  hollering  round  and  calling  on  the 
name  of  the  Lord  and  so  forth.  It  seems  to  comfort 
them  in  a  way." 

"  Sometimes  the  ignorant  see  what  the  wise  are  too 
blind  to  perceive,"  said  Nancy  in  a  low  voice,  following 
rather  the  train  of  her  own  ideas  than  the  course  of 
Harte's  reasoning. 

"Look  here,  Nancy,  I'll  tell  you  just  what  it  is: 
you  are  nervous,  and  low-spirited,  and  sad.  No  wonder, 
after  all  you've  suffered,  and  living  by  yourself,  too," 
said  Harte  in  quick,  uneasy  sentences,  while  his  voice 
wrould  quiver  in  spite  of  all  he  could  do.  "  Don't  you 
think  that  it  is  time  you  had  some  one  beside  you  in 
case  of  need?  You  know  all  along  I've  been  loving 
you,  Nancy,  and  that  you've  only  got  to  raise  your  eye- 


96  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

lid  and  wink  a  Yes,  and  I'd  have  been  down  on  my  knees 
and  grateful.  You  don't  care  for  my  love  one  bit;  I 
can  see  that,  you  never  did,  but  maybe  you'd  be  glad 
some  day  to  have  a  man  to  protect  you.  I  guess  I'm 
about  the  best  shot  in  this  county  anyhow,  and  there 
ain't  a  man  between  here  and  Fort  Leavenworth  I'd 
be  afraid  to  stand  up  against.  Do  you  care  about  that, 
Nancy?" 

This  was  possibly  an  appropriate  form  in  which  to 
cast  a  declaration  of  love  on  the  Missouri  border,  but 
Nancy  could  hardly  repress  a  smile  as  she  answered: 

"  I  know  you  are  a  brave  man,  James,  and  no  wom 
an  could  want  a  braver;  but  I'm  not  in  a  mind  to 
marry." 

"  But  think  what  would  become  of  you  here!  You 
absolutely  can't  live  here,  slap  on  the  border  almost, 
without  a  man  to  draw  a  trigger  for  you/'  urged  the 
young  man  with  vehemence. 

"  Perhaps  I  shall  go  away." 

"What  for?"  exclaimed  he  in  dismay,  not  at  all 
relishing  this  way  out  of  the  dilemma.  "  You  were 
born  and  reared  here.  Why  should  you  wish  to  go 
away?  " 

"Why  not?  Folks  are  always  moving.  I  should 
like  to  go  somewhere  else,  I  think." 

"  I  couldn't  bear  to  think  of  it.  You  mustn't, 
Nancy,"  said  Harte  anxiously. 

"  Mr.  Oliver  said  if  I  didn't  change  my  opinions  the 
men  would  come  and  turn  me  out  of  the  country,"  said 
Nancy  very  unguardedly. 

"Damn  them,  let  them  try  it!"  exclaimed  Harte, 
furiously;  "  I'll  shoot  every  man  jack  of  them,  begin 
ning  with  Oliver." 

Nancy  sprang  startled  to  her  feet. 

"  How  dare  you  make  such  a  threat!  "  she  asked  in 
dignantly.  "It  is  this  wicked,  wicked  taking  of  life 


AUNT  MONIN'S  FREEDOM  97 

that  is  going  to  bring  a  curse  down  upon  our  land.     You 
think  it  is  nothing  to  kill  a  man!  " 

"There  ain't  nothing  else  for  it,  oftentimes/'  an 
swered  Harte,  with  unaffected  Western  philosophy. 

"  I  don't  think  it  is  ever  the  thing  to  do,"  replied 
Nancy,  with  an  earnestness  derived  from  her  personal 
experience  rather  than  from  any  careful  course  of  rea 
soning. 

"  I'll  do  whatever  you  say,  if  only  you'll  marry  me," 
said  the  young  man,  with  the  promissory  lavishness  ha 
bitual  with  one  suffering  from  the  passion  of  love. 
"  You  can  make  me  what  you  will.  If  you'll  marry  me, 
I'll  settle  down  and  work  a  farm,  and  won't  sight  a  gun 
on  anything  with  two  legs  excepting  buzzards.  If  you 
won't,  I'll  turn  bushwhacker,  by  thunder,  and  raid  Kan 
sas  as  long  as  I  can  level  a  rifle." 

"  Is  this  a  threat,  Mr.  Harte?  "  asked  Nancy  stiffly. 

"  You  girls  would  drive  a  man  clean  crazy  with  your 
tormenting  ways.  Then,  when  he  don't  know  what  he 
is  saying,  you  turn  on  him  like  that,"  said  Harte,  trying 
to  bring  his  furious  temper  under  control. 

"  I  don't  think  I  ever  acted  unkindly  to  you,"  said 
Nancy,  not  without  some  show  of  feeling. 

"  No,  you  never  did.  You  were  always  the  nicest 
girl  I  ever  saw  or  heard  of,  but  can't  you  understand? 
I  want  you  to  marry  me,"  he  ended,  lamely  enough,  but 
with  a  good  deal  of  pathos  nevertheless. 

"  No,  James,  I  can't,"  she  said  as  gently  as  she 
could,  and  yet  with  unmistakable  firmness. 

"  Won't  you  change?  Girls  often  do,"  said  he,  look 
ing  at  her  longingly. 

"  No,  I  sha'n't  change.  That  is  my  answer.  Try 
and  forget  it  all,  and  you  will  meet  some  other  woman 
that  you  will  love  better,"  she  added,  with  the  usual 
futile  attempt  at  consolation  which  women  offer  under 
these  circumstances.  Fortunately  she  did  not  volun- 


98  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

teer  to  be  a  sister  to  him.     Harte's  wild  temper  broke 
out  at  what  he  could  not  fail  to  see  was  a  final  answer. 

"  Then  I  don't  care  what  I  do.  I'll  go  straight  to 
the  devil,  and  you'll  have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing 
it  is  all  through  your  doing/'  said  he  savagely. 

:(  Then  you  would  have  gone  all  the  same,  no  matter 
what  had  been  my  answer,"  replied  Nancy,  her  melting 
mood  quite  dispelled  by  his  wild  words,  and  her  temper 
rising  too. 

''  You  could  have  made  a  good  man  of  me  if  you  had 
tried;  now  you'll  see  what  you've  done,"  said  he  as  he 
left  the  room.  He  flung  himself  upon  his  horse  and 
rode  furiously  away,  leaving  the  young  girl  half  fright 
ened  and  wholly  angry.  A  man  had  no  right,  she 
argued  to  herself,  to  try  and  terrify  a  woman  into  marry 
ing  him.  Any  man  who  could  do  such  a  thing  would  be 
quite  certain  to  show  his  violent  temper  to  her  as  soon 
as  she  was  his  wife. 

Harte,  of  course,  came  no  more  to  the  farm  to  see  if 
Nancy  were  safe,  and  nobody  else  took  his  place  of  vol 
unteer  protector,  for  he  had,  as  it  were,  driven  off  all 
her  other  suitors  by  the  persistence  of  his  wooing.  It 
was  very  generally  known  that  he  was  a  man  that  would 
brook  no  interference  from  anybody — an  attitude  of 
mind  which,  when  backed  by  the  newest  rifle  and  the 
steadiest  hand  in  the  county,  was  apt  to  create  a  feeling 
of  deference  in  the  minds  of  onlookers.  The  com 
plete  isolation  in  which  Nancy  now  found  herself  only 
increased  her  anxiety  to  be  gone  out  of  the  country. 
She  was  completely  out  of  harmony  with  everything 
around  her,  and  she  did  not  feel  that  her  position  was 
one  that  could  long  be  retained  with  safety.  According 
ly,  she  sold  her  farm  to  her  nearest  neighbour,  who  was 
none  other  than  the  Mr.  Oliver  who  had  been  the  first 
to  threaten  her  with  the  wrath  of  the  surrounding  slave 
holders.  He  felt  some  slight  qualms  of  conscience  at 


AUNT   MONIN'S   FREEDOM  99 

i 

having,  as  it  were,  frightened  her  out  of  the  country  and 
then  at  reaping  the  benefits  of  her  going;  but  this  did 
not  prevent  him  from  buying  her  farm  at  considerably 
less  than  its  real  value  and  urging  her  to  accept  the  offer, 
because  nobody  was  likely  to  bid  anything  for  it,  so  he 
told  her.  Nancy  closed  the  bargain  with  him  and  be 
lieved  what  he  said  until  two  other  men  offered  her  bet 
ter  terms,  when,  however,  it  was  too  late  for  her  to  ac 
cept  them. 

There  was  a  dreary  auction  at  the  old  house  the 
second  week  of  the  New  Year,  when  all  the  neighbours 
came  and  ransacked  the  place,  and  the  auctioneer 
cracked  jokes,  as  it  is  his  class  privilege  to  do,  offering 
old  pots  with  holes  in  them  to  anxious  housewives,  and 
recommending  them  highly  for  their  fascinating  capa 
bilities  of  letting  the  water  run  off  the  beans  without 
the  trouble  of  taking  up  the  lid  and  emptying  the  pot. 

There  is  nothing  so  dreary  as  an  empty  house  after 
an  auction  has  cleared  away  everything  that  had  made 
the  four  walls  look  friendly  and  homelike.  The  bare 
ness  and  discomfort  of  everything  combined  with  the 
half -lost  sense  of  familiarity  are  doubly  painful.  The 
rooms  are  empty  and  re-echo  to  our  loitering  steps  with 
harsh  coldness;  the  passages  are  full  of  wailing  draughts 
that  seem  to  mock  our  mourning  with  their  long-drawn 
sighs.  Visions  of  past  hours  of  pleasure  and  ease  rise 
suddenly  before  us  with  startling  clearness,  peopling  the 
empty  spaces  with  the  vanished  forms  of  friends  who 
will  never  again  occupy  the  familiar  places.  The  genial 
fireplace,  where  the  lightwood  used  to  leap  up  in  glint 
ing  flames  amid  a  storm  of  sparks,  is  cold  and  black, 
frowning  at  us  with  its  sullen  overhanging  mantelpiece. 
The  home  is  dead,  leaving  only  the  corpse  of  the  house 
behind  to  remind  the  sorrower  of  happier  days.  We 
look  sadly  upon  the  corpse  and  think  with  aching  hearts 
of  how  fair  the  home  had  been. 


100  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

It  was  Nancy's  own  wish  to  leave  her  native  State 
and  to  begin  life  anew  in  Kansas,  but  when  the  actu 
ality  of  her  wish  was  ripe  for  accomplishment  she  was 
full  of  grief  and  despair.  She  had  lived  all  her  life  in 
that  home,  and  although  America  is  too  new  a  world  for 
its  children  to  have  taken  very  firm  hold  of  it  with  the 
tendrils  of  their  affections,  still,  even  there,  people,  if 
not  bitten  by  the  mania  of  moving,  do  feel  a  warm  at 
tachment  to  the  scenes  of  their  childhood.  The  poor 
girl  sat  on  a  heap  of  cornshucks  in  the  dismantled  sit 
ting  room  and  wept  bitterly. 

"  Honey-chile,  de  wagons  is  all  ready,  an'  de  chillun 
is  wrap  up  in  de  warm  quilts  an'  de  buffalo  robes,  an'  dey 
is  all  dar  waitin'  ter  set  out.  Come  'long,  chile,  we  mus' 
be  gwine." 

"  0  Aunt  Monin,"  sobbed  Nancy,  "  my  heart  is 
broken.  I  haven't  got  any  home  left,  and  nobody  to 
care  for  me  in  this  wide,  wide  world." 

"  Chile,  de  Lo'd's  lookin'  down  'pon  yo'  dish  bressed 
minute,  an'  we's  all  gwine  ter  set  out  for  de  promise' 
Ian'." 

Aunt  Monin  was  radiant  with  joy  and  tried  to  start 
a  chorus  of  Glory,  halleluiah!  but  none  of  the  other 
negroes  responded.  They  remembered  that  other  set 
ting  out  for  the  Eiver  Jordan  when  they  had  lifted  up 
their  voices  and  sung;  and  they  remembered,  too,  what 
had  befallen  them  on  that  fearsome  journey  toward  the 
promised  land.  So  they  were  mute  now  when  Nancy 
climbed  into  the  foremost  wagon  and  gave  the  signal 
for  the  departure.  A  little  caravan  of  three  canvas- 
covered  wagons  left  the  farm  and  disappeared  down  the 
road  through  the  bare  trees.  At  the  fork  the  young 
girl  looked  out  for  one  last  sight  of  the  home  where  she 
had  passed  all  her  life,  but  her  eyes  were  blinded  with 
tears,  and  she  did  not  see  the  house,  only  a  blurred  shape 
bewilderingly  glancing  beyond  the  leafless  trees. 


AUNT  MONIN'S  FREEDOM  101 

Shortly  afterward  they  met  a  man  with  a  rifle  on 
his  shoulder,  walking  down  the  road  in  an  absent- 
minded  way.  He  did  not  seem  to  notice  the  wagons, 
but  walked  on  until  he  was  almost  under  the  noses  of 
the  horses. 

"  Jah,  mas'r,  won't  yer  give  us  room?  "  called  the 
driver  of  the  first  wagon,  and  the  voice  seemed  to  startle 
the  absent-minded  pedestrian.  He  looked  up  like  one 
bewildered,  and,  realizing  that  he  was  in  the  very  middle 
of  the  road,  stepped  to  one  side  until  the  wagons  had 
passed.  Then  he  again  went  forward,  looking  neither 
to  the  right  hand  nor  to  the  left,  but  walking  like  one 
in  a  dream,  until  he  too  came  to  the  fork.  Then  he 
awoke  with  a  start  and  gazed  along  the  road  at  the  de 
serted  house,  as  if  he  expected  some  fearful  object  to 
rush  out  and  confront  him.  But  what  fearful  object 
could  come  out  of  an  utterly  deserted  house,  unless  it 
was  a  fearful  memory? 

And  so  the  stranger  stood  gazing  as  he  leaned  on  his 
rifle,  while  the  wagons  crept  farther  and  farther  away 
on  their  journey  toward  the  land  of  the  free. 


CHAPTER    X 

A    SUSPECT 

THE  recollection  of  that  sunny  afternoon  in  October 
rose  up  so  clearly  in  Beaton's  mind  as  he  stood  gazing 
at  the  house  where  he  had  learned  his  first  lesson  in  Jay- 
Hawking  that  he  was  almost  unable  to  shake  off  the 
feeling  that  this  was  a  part  of  the  same  terrible  day. 
He  looked  at  the  bare  trees  to  prove  to  himself  that  a 
long  time  had  elapsed  since  he  was  here  before.  Then 
they  had  been  in  all  the  glory  of  autumn  tints,  gold  and 
crimson — at  least,  in  the  morning  he  had  thought  they 
were  golden  yellow,  but  afterward  they  all  became  crim 
son  and  blood  red — now  the  trees  were  bare  and  the 
brown  earth  was  dull  and  scentless,  wrapped  in  winter 
slumber.  The  sounds  and  voices  of  the  woods  were 
stilled.  No  wee  chattering  creatures  in  fur  or  feather 
fluttered  among  the  branches  or  pecked  at  the  tree 
trunks.  Everything  was  as  still  as  death.  Even  the 
house  before  him  looked  silent  and  deathlike  as  the 
young  man  walked  slowly  toward  it.  There  was  no 
sound  either  of  man  or  animal  as  he  reached  the  bars, 
and  his  footfall  upon  the  veranda  re-echoed  loudly  in 
his  ears.  He  knocked  at  the  door,  but  no  one  answered. 
He  raised  the  latch  and  looked  in.  The  room  was  bare 
and  comfortless,  not  a  sign  of  life  anywhere.  Heaton 
stepped  into  it,  and  then  in  a  flash  he  felt,  rather  than 
saw,  that  this  was  the  room  where  he  had  stood  last 
autumn.  There  had  sat  the  man  in  his  rocking-chair, 
102 


A  SUSPECT  103 

and  there  he  had  fallen  as  Heaton  had  fired  his  fatal 
shot.  He  took  a  step  forward  and  saw  on  the  floor  a 
dull  red-brown  stain.  He  knew  too  well  what  that 
must  be— that  doleful  stain  that  can  never  be  washed  out 
of  boards,  but  sinks  in  and  lasts  for  years  to  mark  the 
spot  where  life  blood  has  been  shed. 

"  Like  the  stain  on  my  heart/7  said  the  young  man 
to  himself  as  he  hurriedly  left  the  room,  closing  the 
door  after  him.  He  sat  down  on  the  first  step  of  the 
veranda,  and  let  his  head  fall  wearily  011  his  hand.  He 
experienced  a  dull  sense  of  disappointment.  He  had 
come  here  upon  a  foolish,  ill-defined  errand,  not  know 
ing  exactly  why  he  came,  but  from  an  irresistible  de 
sire  to  see  again  that  poor  girl  and  understand  quite 
clearly  what  had  become  of  her.  This  was  the  house, 
he  knew  that  well  enough,  but  the  people  were  all 
fled,  and  he  would  now  never  know  anything  about 
her.  Her  wailing  cry  would  then  always  ring  in  his 
ears  as  the  only  sound  her  voice  was  capable  of  pro 
ducing. 

"Hullo,  stranger!  Eeckon  yer  hain't  got  much 
comfort  out  o'  that  house,  anyhow." 

Heaton  started.  He  had  not  noticed  the  approach 
of  a  man,  who  now  stood  leaning  against  the  bars. 

"  No,  indeed,  I  haven't/7  he  replied  with  consider 
able  earnestness,  for  the  words  were  so  unexpectedly 
true  and  applicable  to  himself. 

"  No,  siree;  it's  plumb  lonesome,  you  bet." 

"  What  has  become  of  the  people  who  lived  here?  " 

"  Know  'em?  "  inquired  the  man,  looking  keenly 
at  him. 

"  No,"  said  Heaton,  beginning  to  rouse  up. 

"  What  yer  come  hyar  for,  then?  "  was  the  next  in 
quiry,  very  suspiciously  delivered. 

"  I  am  starting  on  a  hunt,  and  I  thought  I'd  stay 
over  the  night  here,  if  there  had  been  any  one  in  the 


104  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

house/'  said  Heaton,  rapidly  perceiving  that  his  inter 
locutor  was  looking  askance  at  him. 

"  Seed  ary  head  o'  game?  " 

"Not  yet.  Is  there  much  about  this  neighbour 
hood?" 

"  What  kind  was  yer  'lowin'  ter  track?  " 

"  Deer,"  replied  the  young  man. 

"No,  there  ain't  no  deer"  was  the  reply,  with  a 
strong  emphasis  on  the  word. 

"  Or  wolves?  "  said  Heaton,  hoping  he  was  not  men 
tioning  game  that  betrayed  too  great  an  ignorance  of 
the  locality. 

"  No,  there  ain't  no  wolves"  came  the  answer,  with 
the  same  curious  emphasis  which  Heaton  had  already 
noticed. 

"  Well,  is  there  any  game  worth  while  ?  " 

"  Yaas,  we  hev  hed  pretty  tole'ble  game  roun'  hyar 
sometimes,"  replied  the  man  at  the  bars  with  a  most 
exasperating  drawl. 

"  What  do  you  hunt,  then?  "  inquired  Heaton,  with 
some  irritation  at  the  unsatisfactory  nature  of  the  re 
plies  he  had  hitherto  extracted  from  his  enigmatical 
questioner. 

"Jay-Hawkers!"  said  he  with  sudden  fierceness; 
and  then  he  closed  his  keen  eyes  until  they  were  mere 
slits,  out  of  which  he  could  survey  an  enemy  safely  as 
through  narrow  loopholes. 

Heaton  felt  that  the  situation  was  becoming  critical, 
and  that  it  might  need  all  his  skill  to  extricate  himself 
from  a  dilemma  which  had  ugly  possibilities  about  it. 

"  I  suppose  this  part  of  the  country  is  pretty  quiet. 
You  don't  have  any  trouble  here,  do  you?  "  he  observed, 
with  a  fine  assumption  of  carelessness. 

"  We're  'lowing  we'll  keep  it  pretty  quiet,  you  can 
lay  on  that,"  was  the  ready  answer. 

"  This  ain't  very  far  from  Mine  Creek,  is  it  ?  "  next 


A  SUSPECT  105 

inquired  the  young  man,  with  a  view  to  leading  the  con 
versation  into  perfectly  safe  lines.  He  was  not  as  suc 
cessful  as  he  could  have  wished,  for  the  next  question 
he  had  to  meet  was: 

"  Be  yer  goin'  inter  Kansas  ?  " 

"  Not  at  present.  I  wanted  to  get  the  bearings  of 
the  country,  being  a  stranger  here." 

"  That's  a  Sharpens  carbine  you've  got  thar.  Kan 
sas  men  has  'em  mostly." 

"  Ah,  this  gun,"  observed  Heaton,  rising  from  the 
step  and  preparing  to  walk  up  to  the  man  with  casual 
interest.  "  You've  got  a  smooth-bore,  I  see." 

"  Stan'  back  thar  whar  you  are,  stranger.  Don't  yer 
come  nary  step  nigher.  I  don't  'low  ary  pusson  ter  git 
the  draw  on  me,  an'  you're  jess  'bout  my  best  shootin' 
range  now." 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  Heaton  contemptuously.  "  I 
only  wanted  to  show  you  my  rifle,  if  you  cared  to  see  it." 

"  That  mought  be,  stranger.  I  ain't  agoin'  ter  say 
you  ain't  all  on  the  square,  but  this  hoss  don't  let  nary 
man  come  nigher  than  he  can  fix  him  handy." 

Heaton  backed  slowly  to  his  position  on  the  steps  of 
the  veranda  and  sat  down  again  with  his  rifle  laid  on  his 
knees.  He  kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  face  of  the  man 
at  the  bars,  and  a  scornful  smile  lurked  around  his 
bearded  mouth.  Keeping  his  eye  also  on  Heaton,  the 
suspicious  Missourian  sidled  off  until  out  of  range,  when 
he  briskly  walked  out  of  sight  among  the  trees. 

"  Precious  country  this!  "  thought  the  young  man  to 
himself  as  he  watched  this  cautious  retreat,  and  then  he 
remembered  with  a  shudder  that  he  had  done  all  that 
one  man  could  to  add  to  the  feeling  of  dread  and  sus 
picion  with  which  a  Missourian  would  naturally  view  a 
stranger  that  might  possibly  hail  from  Kansas. 

"  I  swear  before  Heaven  I'll  never  do  another  act 
which  will  help  to  embitter  the  feeling  between  my 


106  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

fellow-countrymen;  but  if  by  shedding  my  blood  I  can 
deliver  my  land  from  the  curse  of  slavery  then  to  the 
last  drop  I'll  give  it!  " 

That  was  Charlie  Heaton's  vow  as  he  stood  in  the 
silent  porch  of  Nancy  Overtones  abandoned  home. 

He  was  never  then  going  to  see  this  girl  whose  voice 
haunted  him.  He  could  never  make  reparation  in  any 
tangible  way  to  her,  as  he  had  half  hoped  might  be 
possible  when  he  set  out  on  his  trip,  but  he  could  make 
vicarious  atonement  in  some  other  way.  The  fading  of 
his  fanciful  dream  gave  the  young  man  a  sense  of  deso 
lation.  He  did  not  realize  until  the  dream  had  faded 
how  much  his  imagination  had  been  alluring  him  with 
the  idea  of  doing  something  to  obtain  forgiveness  from 
the  one  whom  he  had  most  injured.  Sitting  on  the  step 
of  the  abandoned  house,  he  realized  all  at  once  how  ut 
terly  foolish  had  been  his  imaginings.  The  severe  prac 
tical  spirit  of  his  upbringing  reasserted  itself,  and  he 
gave  over  being  a  fanciful  vapouring  youth.  Now,  in 
deed,  that  the  dream  no  longer  impeded  his  vision,  he 
perceived  into  what  a  serious  position  it  had  been  the 
means  of  leading  him.  He  was  actually  carrying  his 
life  in  his  hand.  He  now  plainly  perceived  that  his 
Kansas  get-up  was  recognised  by  the  Missourians,  and 
he  had  run  into  this  danger  for  what?  He  knew  when 
setting  out  that  it  was  an  expedition  that  would  not 
commend  itself  to  the  entirely  practical  common- 
sense  person,  but  now  he  stood  revealed  to  himself  as  a 
very  tolerable  specimen  of  an  idiot  on  account  of  what 
he  had  done.  Charlie  Heaton  therefore  came  to  his 
senses  on  the  steps  of  Nancy's  house,  and  resolved  to 
behave  like  a  reasonable  being  for  the  future,  and  to 
put  vague  fancies  out  of  his  mind. 

The  first  result  of  this  reawakening  of  the  Vermont 
side  of  his  character  was  the  determination  to  get  him 
self  out  of  Missouri  as  quickly  and  as  safely  as  he  could, 


A  SUSPECT  107 

and  for  this  purpose  he  resolved  to  be  exceedingly  cau 
tious.  Accordingly  he  shouldered  his  rifle  and  started 
homeward,  deciding  to  make  for  Mine  Creek  with  all 
expedition.  Just  before  nightfall  he  met  a  couple  of 
horsemen  who,  upon  nearer  observation,  proved  to  be 
wearing  the  United  States  uniform.  They  stopped  him 
at  once,  and  he  heard,  to  his  great  relief,  by  the  first 
words  that  they  uttered,  that  he  had  to  deal  with  edu 
cated  men  and  officers.  They  questioned  him  narrowly 
as  to  where  he  had  come  from,  and  pricked  up  their  ears 
when  he  said  from  Kansas. 

"  How  many  men  has  Montgomery  out  with  him  in 
his  army?  " 

"  Montgomery  has  no  army  at  all,"  said  Heaton, 
much  astonished  at  the  question. 

"  We  have  information  that  he  has  assembled  a  large 
force,"  said  the  senior  officer. 

"  That  information  is  very  incorrect,"  returned  the 
young  man  with  a  smile.  "  I  was  speaking  to  Mont 
gomery  not  a  week  ago,  and  he  had  not  a  single  man 
with  him  then,  but  was  just  getting  along  with  his  farm 
work  like  any  other  settler." 

"  He  might  have  got  them  together  since  you  saw 
him." 

"  Hardly;  settlers  are  not  so  thick  around  the  Big 
Sugar  district,"  said  Heaton,  remembering  the  episode 
of  Athens,  London,  and  Oak  City. 

"  They  had  a  big  raid  last  fall,  when  a  hundred  men 
turned  out  and  ran  off  a  lot  of  negroes  and  killed  a 
number  of  Missourians,"  remarked  the  senior  officer. 

Heaton  remained  discreetly  silent,  not  considering  it 
wise  to  set  him  right  on  the  many  points  where  his  in 
formation  was  hopelessly  incorrect. 

"  That's  an  army  knapsack  you've  got.     Were  you 
ever  a  soldier?  "  asked  the  younger  officer,  speaking 
for  the  first  time. 
8 


108  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

"No;  I  bought  it  from  a  man  in  Lawrence,"  said 
Heaton  in  reply. 

"  Ah,  I  knew  you  were  a  free-state  man.  Now  take 
a  piece  of  advice  from  one  who  knows  something  about 
these  parts  of  the  world.  Clear  out  of  Kansas  unless 
you  want  to  be  mixed  up  in  the  ugliest  border  war  you 
ever  dreamed  of.  We're  pretty  near  into  it  now,  and  I 
can  tell  you  these  Missouri  men  are  devils  when  their 
blood  is  up,  and  you  Kansas  fellows  are  every  whit  as 
bad.  This  isn't  going  to  be  a  good  spot  for  quiet,  re 
spectable  people  during  the  next  couple  of  years.  You 
may  bet  on  that." 

"  I  dare  say  you  are  right  in  all  probability,"  re 
marked  Heaton.  "  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  I  acted  upon 
the  advice  in  a  sort  of  a  way.  I'm  thinking  of  going  on 
a  buffalo  hunt  out  toward  Salina." 

"  A  very  good  plan,"  said  the  officer  genially.  "  I'd 
have  you  follow  it  out.  And  here's  a  hint  for  you  till 
you  get  safe  among  your  buffaloes.  Don't  go  near  any 
house  if  you  can  possibly  help  it,  for  as  likely  as  not 
you'll  be  shot  from  behind  your  back  if  you  do.  Safe 
out  of  Missouri  and  good  luck  to  you!  " 

When  Heaton  came  to  the  crossing  of  Mine  Creek 
he  saw  that  the  waters,  though  by  no  means  so  high  as 
on  that  day  when  they  fought  and  lost  the  battle  beside 
the  river,  were  high  enough  to  stop  a  man  on  foot. 
Anxious  as  he  was  to  get  across,  there  was  nothing  for 
it  but  to  wait  until  some  wagon  came  by  which  would 
ferry  him  over.  Luck  favoured  him;  a  wagon  came 
lumbering  along,  and  a  man  hailed  him  from  under  the 
cover. 

"  Hullo,  stranger!     Is  the  river  too  deep  to  cross?  " 

"  I  was  just  wondering  about  it  myself,"  answered 
Heaton. 

The  individual  who  had  first  spoken  disappeared  in 
side  his  wagon,  and  Heaton  began  to  wonder  if  he  was 


A  SUSPECT  109 

going  to  shoot  him  from  behind  that  place  of  conceal 
ment.  He  was  prepared  for  anything  now  in  Missouri. 
After  a  moment's  suspense  there  appeared  from  the  tail 
of  the  wagon  a  wild-looking  child,  half  boy,  half  girl, 
who  clambered  nimbly  down  by  the  feed  box  and  began 
rapidly  to  unhitch  the  larger  of  the  two  horses,  a  big 
brown  mare,  who  knew  her  well  apparently,  since  she 
rubbed  her  nose  confidentially  upon  the  child's  bare 
head.  With  the  utmost  speed  and  without  a  particle  of 
fear  the  small  person  had  the  mare  free  of  the  wagon  in 
a  trice,  when,  standing  upon  the  pole,  she  stripped  off 
the  harness  from  over  the  animal's  tail  with  a  most 
professional  twirl.  Heaton  had  watched  her  proceed 
ings  with  some  amusement,  wondering  how  she  could 
possibly  get  the  hames  and  collar  off  so  big  a  horse. 
The  child,  however,  was  not  at  a  loss  as  to  how  to  pro 
ceed.  She  first  unbuckled  the  underneath  strap,  and 
then,  putting  her  foot  on  the  knee  of  the  mare  and 
twining  her  two  vigorous  hands  in  its  mane,  she  liter 
ally  swung  herself  on  its  back,  astride,  of  course.  From 
this  point  of  vantage  she  slung  the  unbuckled  harness 
clear  of  the  animal's  feet  and  remained  herself  seated 
barebacked  in  triumph  upon  the  unharnessed  mare. 

"Well  done!"  exclaimed  Heaton  admiringly;  "I 
never  saw  a  horse  unharnessed  in  finer  style." 

The  child  smiled  with  gratification. 

"  The  mare  ain't  no  trouble;  I  can  always  manage 
her.  He's  the  bother  to  harness,"  pointing  to  the  other 
horse,  who  was  still  hitched  to  the  wagon. 

"Why?" 

"  'Cause  he  steps  away  when  I  want  to  put  the  hous 
ing  on  his  back,  and  then  I  fall  down  with  it  and  tanglo 

up.» 

At  this  moment  the  child's  father  emerged  from  the 
interior  of  the  wagon,  having  divested  himself  of  all  his 
heavy  clothes,  and  coming  forth  clad  only  in  shirt  and 


HO  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

trousers.  Without  a  word  he  took  the  little  girl's  place 
on  the  big  mare  and  rode  straight  into  the  water.  She,, 
meanwhile  watching  with  the  keenest  interest,  placed 
herself  beside  Heaton  and  made  intelligent  comments 
upon  the  proceedings. 

"  The  creek's  powerful  high,  ain't  it?  " 

"  Yes,,  it  is  a  bad  crossing." 

"  Guess  pap'll  do  it  an'  git  'cross  on  Brown  Bess. 
She's  mighty  cute  at  swimmin'." 

"  But  see,  she's  stopped." 

"  Oh,  that  ain't  nothin'.  Brown  Bess  is  on'y  jess 
smellin'  how  deep  it  is.  Hark  how  she  blows  an' 
spouts! " 

The  mare  was  indeed  blowing  loudly  at  the  water, 
which  was  over  the  rider's  bare  feet  and  was  getting 
deeper  at  every  step  she  took.  Very  slowly  they  waded 
across;  once  only  the  mare  went  down  into  a  hole,  and 
the  rider  got  something  of  a  ducking. 

"  Land,"  exclaimed  the  child,  who  at  once  seemed 
to  grasp  the  situation  in  all  its  bearings,  "  if  ther  ain't 
a  hole  plumb  in  the  crossin'!  Guess  we  ain't  goin'  to 
get  over  to-night." 

But  she  had  miscalculated  the  cuteness  both  of 
Brown  Bess  and  her  rider,  who  were  carefully  outlining 
that  hole  by  means  of  their  feet.  When  its  dimensions 
were  made  clear  to  the  man,  he  and  his  horse  came  drip 
ping  back  again  to  where  the  wagon  stood. 

"  Can  we  cross,  Washington?"  asked  a  voice  from 
the  interior  of  the  wagon,  and  for  the  first  time  Heaton 
became  aware  that  there  was  a  woman  inside. 

"  We'll  try,  wifie,"  said  the  rider  of  the  wet  horse. 

Heaton  came  forward  and  offered  to  help  in  any  way 
that  he  could,  and  in  return  asked  for  a  seat  over  the 
ford.  The  man  eyed  him  with  misgiving,  especially 
the  rifle  and  pistols,  which  were  the  most  evident  arti 
cles  of  Heaton's  equipment. 


A  SUSPECT 

"  Well,  stranger,  Fm  a  man  of  peace;  a  nonresist- 
ant  by  conviction,  and  I  don't  know  as  I  should  be  ex 
actly  justified  in  carrying  so  many  weapons  of  offence 
into  Kansas,  where,  as  I'm  told,  there  are  already  too 
many."  He  spake  with  a  certain  sing-song  cadence,  as 
if  he  was  in  the  habit  of  speaking  a  good  deal  at  meeting 
with  his  eyes  shut. 

't(  You  needn't  be  alarmed,"  said  Heaton,  suppress 
ing  a  smile  with  some  difficulty;  "  my  warlike  arms  are 
not  intended  for  the  slaughter  of  anything  more  ter 
rible  than  a  few  buffaloes  for  food." 

"  Stranger,  I  don't  know  as  it  would  be  possible  to 
put  firearms  to  a  worse  use.  I  can't  think  of  a  greater 
waste,  and  a  wickeder  waste,  than  killing  innocent  crea 
tures  in  order  to  poison  human  beings,"  said  he  with 
fervour. 

"I'm  not  going  to  poison  anybody,"  answered 
Heaton  with  amazement.  "  I  am  only  going  to  get 
food  for  myself." 

"  Buffalo  meat  is  poison,  deadly  poison.  I'm  a  vege 
tarian  by  conviction,"  returned  the  man  impressively. 

"  Oh!  "  said  Heaton  with  feebleness,  but  he  really 
did  not  know  what  else  to  say. 

"Yes,  I  am,  and  I  think  for  human  beings  to  eat 
dead  corpses " 

"Washington,  are  you  going  to  cross  or  are  you 
not?  "  called  a  sharp  voice  from  the  inside. 

"Yes,  yes,  to  be  sure.  Stranger,  just  lend  a  hand 
to  help  hoist  up  this  load,  would  you?  I've  got  a  few 
planks,  and  we  can  put  them  across  the  body  of  the 
wagon,  and  then  we'll  put  the  women's  truck  on  top  of 
them  to  keep  dry." 

Washington  spoke  sharply  and  quickly,  very  much 
to  the  purpose,  moreover,  as  if  he  had  roused  up  from 
the  meeting  with  shut  eyes,  and  had  opened  them  to 
become  a  thoroughly  practical  man,  unbothered  by  con- 


112  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

victions  of  any  sort.  The  planks  were  rapidly  made 
into  a  kind  of  platform,  upon  which  was  reared  a  pyra 
mid  of  "  women's  truck  "  which  could  not  stand  water, 
such  as  sugar,  flour,  rice,  etc.  This  being  fastened 
down,  was  to  be  held  in  position  by  Heaton,  and  they 
were  ready  for  the  great  effort. 

There  was  first  a  fierce  downward  plunge  through 
the  gully  that  cut  the  steep  mud  banks,  before  they 
reached  the  water  at  all.  The  reins  were  already  being 
tightened  in  Washington's  grasp,  the  whip  was  raised, 
when  Heaton  suddenly  called  out: 

"  Where's  the  child?     She  isn't  in  the  wagon." 

"  She's  putting  on  the  drag  to  the  hind  wheel. 
Gee  up,  Bess!  Now,  then!  Easy!  Whoa!  Easy! 
Easy,  now! " 

The  wagon  lurched,  pitched,  rushed  down  the  steep, 
slippery  gully,  stopped  for  one  second  at  the  edge  of  the 
water,  when  Heaton  heard  the  sharp  rattle  of  the  drag 
chain,  then  into  the  water  with  them.  The  little  girl 
was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  but  Heaton  had  all  he  could  do 
to  keep  his  load  steady,  and  had  no  spare  attention  to 
bestow  on  her  for  the  moment.  The  water  rose  in  the 
body  of  the  wagon,  and  he  realized  that  he  was  standing 
in  exceedingly  cold  water.  The  vehicle  creaked  and 
the  horses  snorted  loudly,  the  waters  swirled  by.  The 
driver  stood  up  and  yelled  to  his  animals. 

"  Lord  a  mussy,"  said  the  wife,  "  my  bag  o'  flour 
'ull  be  wet,  and  it's  the  very  best  whites!  " 

The  water  remained  stationary;  they  swayed  gently 
along,  cleared  safely  that  hole  in  the  middle,  and  at 
length  began  to  emerge  from  the  creek. 

"Now,  then,  go  it!  Bess,  Bill!  Geeup!  Hisk 
now,  gerree! " 

You  could  hear  the  horses  as  they  strained  at  the 
collar.  They  were  struggling  up  the  companion  gully 
at  the  other  side  out  of  the  river.  You  could  hear  their 


A  SUSPECT  113 

muscles  almost  crack  with  the  tension,  and  there  was 
the  child  whooping  and  screeching  at  them,  dancing  in 
an  ecstasy  of  excitement  under  their  very  noses,  as  they 
laboured  valiantly  through  the  sticky  mud.  At  length 
they  stood  on  the  top,  panting,  trembling  in  every  limb, 
and  the  driver  jumped  down  to  see  if  anything  had  been 
smashed  in  the  struggle,  and  Heaton  jumped  down  too 
to  ask  the  little  girl  how  she  had  got  over. 

"  In  the  feed  box,  behind  there,"  she  answered, 
pointing  to  a  small  trough  fastened  to  the  rear  of  the 
wagon;  "  I  hopped  in  just  at  the  minute  I  took  the 
drag  off,  when  the  hind  wheel  was  running  into  the 
water."  The  mother  felt  her  bag  of  "  best  whites,"  and 
rinding  even  the  bottom  untouched  by  water  gave  a  sigh 
of  relief. 

"  I  shall  have  my  sody  biscuits,  after  all,"  she  re 
marked  with  a  smack  of  her  thin  lips. 

"Ugly,  ain't  it?"  said  Washington,  feeling  his 
horses'  legs  carefully  one  by  one;  "kills  the  critters, 
that  sort  o'  work." 

"  Very  hard  on  them  indeed,"  replied  Heaton;  "  but 
you  did  it  in  fine  style.  Thank  you  for  the  ferry.  I 
don't  know  how  I  should  have  got  across  without  your 
help." 

"  You're  welcome,  stranger.     Goin'  far?  " 

"  I've  got  a  cabin  at  Keokuk.  I  must  get  there 
some  time." 

"Afoot?" 

"  Yes;  I'm  walking." 

"  Our  house  ain't  far  off,  if  you'd  like  to  break  your 
journey. — Eh,  wife?  " 

"  Of  course,"  said  the  wife,  cordially  re-echoing  her 
husband's  invitation;  "and  I'll  have  some  sody  bis 
cuits  to-night,  the  minute  we  get  home." 

"  Thank  you;  I'll  accept  with  pleasure,"  answered 
Heaton,  to  whom  this  hospitality  was  doubly  welcome, 


114  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

since  he  was  far  from  home,  and  had  not  a  notion  where 
he  should  otherwise  have  spent  the  night. 

"  Mam's  sody  biscuits  is  jess  plumb,"  said  the  child, 
sitting  down  beside  him  and  gathering  up  the  reins  in 
her  small  brown  hands,  while  her  father  dived  into  the 
wagon  to  put  on  again  the  warm  clothes  which  he  had 
thrown  off  for  the  anxious  and  difficult  effort  of  the 
crossing  of  Mine  Creek. 

Resisting  very  earnest  appeals  to  become  a  vegeta 
rian  and  to  settle  down  on  the  next  quarter  section  and 
help  them  spread  their  principles,  Heaton  left  his  kind 
hosts  after  a  couple  of  days  and  returned  home  in 
order  to  make  preparations  for  his  buffalo  hunt.  Be 
sides  being  an  exciting  adventure,  the  trip  was  going  to 
be  a  profitable  one  as  well.  Food  was  scarce  in  Kansas, 
owing  to  the  drought  of  the  preceding  summer.  It  was 
called  a  "  famine  "  in  excitable  newspaper  articles,  but 
fortunately  people  in  Kansas  did  not  know  what  a  real 
famine  was,  and  so  gave  that  name  of  terrible  signifi 
cance  to  the  scarcity  of  food  which  had  begun  to  make 
itself  felt. 

A  strong  young  fellow,  who  was  a  capital  shot,  could 
not  better  employ  his  strength  and  skill  than  in  hunting 
to  obtain  food  which  he  could  easily  sell  at  good  prices. 
Accordingly,  soon  after  that  mad  expedition  into  Mis 
souri,  Heaton  closed  the  door  of  his  cabin  at  Keokuk, 
and  went  up  to  Lawrence.  His  plan  was  to  join  with  a 
young  fellow  of  his  acquaintance,  John  P.  Eidgway,  to 
provide  themselves  with  a  couple  of  teams,  and  to  start 
for  the  plains  as  soon  as  possible.  Salina  was  their 
ultimate  destination,  a  place  as  its  name  indicates,  on 
the  edge  of  that  great  alkali  region  where  Nature  had 
taken  heed,  by  impregnating  the  water  with  poisonous 
salts,  to  keep  man  at  bay,  at  any  rate,  for  some  time. 
The  buffaloes  like  to  browse  on  such  plains,  for  the  salt 
licks,  as  they  are  called,  form  inexhaustible  spots  of  de- 


A  SUSPECT  115 

light  to  them,  while  if  they  take  care  to  have  a  running 
river  within  measurable  distance  of  their  feeding 
grounds  they  can  bid  defiance  to  thirst. 

One  journey  across  the  dull,  monotonous  prairie  is 
very  like  another.  There  is  the  early  start  in  the  gray 
starlight  of  the  winter's  morning,  when  the  horses'  bits 
are  so  cold  that  the  animals  rear  when  they  are  being 
forced  into  their  mouths  and  one's  fingers  are  so  numb 
that  buckles  and  straps  become  endowed  with  a  miracu 
lous  power  of  not  fitting  into  each  other.  There  is  the 
cold  choking  breakfast  of  corn  bread  and  dried  beef,  al 
most  as  hard  to  chew  as  a  feed  of  oats,  after  which  there 
is  a  stiff  climb  into  the  driving  seat.  Hard,  unyielding 
buffalo  robes  are  drawn  about  one's  frozen  feet,  and  stiff 
ened  half-dried  gloves  are  pulled  over  one's  awkward 
fingers;  these  exhaust  the  possible  comforts  of  the  heed 
ful  driver.  A  swear  or  two,  and  the  journey  begins  just 
as  the  chill  sun  comes  winking  over  a  frosty  horizon. 
Then  comes  a  long  morning  of  endless  rolling  prairie, 
trotted  over  if  the  load  be  light  and  the  horses  strong 
and  well  fed,  crawled  over  with  a  full  wagon  or  a  weak 
team.  This  puts  one  to  sleep,  bobbing  and  nodding 
over  the  reins.  There  is  no  interest,  no  excitement,  no 
nothing.  There  is  not  even  a  ditch  to  fall  into.  No, 
nor  a  stone  or  a  bush  that  the  horses  might  shy  at,  if  the 
poor  brutes'  faculty  for  shying  had  not  been  worn  out 
of  them  years  before  by  hard  work. 

There  is  nothing  but  brownish  yellow  dry  grass  for 
miles  and  miles  in  all  directions,  with  a  wriggling  thread 
of  a  road  creeping  along  among  its  mounds  and  rolling 
slopes — a  mere  track,  scarce  to  be  distinguished  from  no 
track,  but  laid  down  on  maps  and  spoken  of  by  pro 
spective  settlers  and  boasting  land  agents  as  (in  this 
case)  the  great  Santa  Fe  road. 

There  is  the  midday  halt,  a  time  of  relaxation  for 
man  and  beast  in  a  long  winter's  journey.  The  sun  has 


116  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

warmed  the  world.  Fingers,  buffalo  robes,  and  straps 
and  buckles  are  limber  once  more  and  have  become 
workable.  The  corn  bread  and  dried  beef  choke  less 
emphatically  than  in  the  morning.  There  is  perchance 
milk  to  drink  with  it,  if  a  settler's  house  has  been  lately 
passed,  and  there  is  a  good  long  stretch  to  be  enjoyed 
in  the  yellow  grass.  The  horses  munch  their  corn 
gratefully  and  go  to  sleep  standing,  their  great  heads 
dropping  lower  and  lower,  until  their  noses  bump 
against  the  hub  of  the  hind  wheel,  when  they  awake 
with  a  start  and  a  rattle  of  their  harness  that  arouses  the 
sleepy  drivers  in  the  grass.  Then  there  is  the  long 
afternoon,  the  counterpart  of  the  morning,  with  the 
pleasant  prospect  of  the  dinner  halt  left  out,  to  be 
ended  after  dusk  by  the  night's  camp.  A  hot  supper 
and  a  fire  for  your  feet  are  the  great  luxuries  of  camping 
out,  tempered  by  smoky  food  and  blisters  on  your  fin 
gers  from  handling  burning  sticks.  One  hour  of  per 
haps  perfect  enjoyment  is  now  relished  as  the  drivers 
sit  round  the  fire  and  smoke  their  well-earned  pipes. 
This  is  the  time  for  good  stories  and  pleasant  talk.  If 
there  is  an  absence  of  wind  and  snow  and  rain,  coupled 
with  the  bodily  presence  of  plenty  of  brushwood  and 
sticks,  a  good  fire  may  be  built  and  a  comfortable  night 
may  be  passed  by  tired  teamsters  with  their  toes  to  the 
fire  and  their  noses  under  buffalo  robes.  After  the 
night  comes  the  morning  with  its  repetition  of  dark 
ness,  cold,  and  the  dismal  work  of  getting  under  way 
before  sunup. 

Heaton  and  his  chum  were  good  hands  at  camping, 
the  former  because  he  was  a  healthy  young  fellow  who 
did  not  mind  roughing  it,  the  latter  because  he  was  an 
old  hand  at  it,  and  knew  how  to  extract  the  greatest 
possible  comfort  out  of  the  most  unpromising  circum 
stances.  He  could  select  a  good  camping  out  place 
with  unerring  judgment,  and  make  a  warm  dry  bed  for 


A  SUSPECT  117 

himself  if  there  was  an  armful  of  prairie  grass  to  be  got 
anywhere  round.  Heaton  enjoyed  the  wildness  and 
novelty  of  it  all,  but  his  friend  Eidgway,  as  soon  as  he 
had  provided  for  his  immediate  comfort,  used  to  think 
of  nothing  but  of  how  much  money  he  could  make  by 
selling  the  meat  they  were  going  to  get. 

The  air  was  full  of  rumours  of  war.  South  Carolina 
had  seceded,  and  newspapers  printed  in  Charleston  used 
to  head  items  from  Washington  as,  "  News  from 
Abroad."  Men  did  not  know  clearly  what  was  before 
the  nation,  but  the  blindest  could  not  fail  to  perceive 
that  a  crisis  was  approaching  which  would  decide  a 
people's  destiny.  Around  their  camp  fire  at  night  the 
two  young  men  had  many  a  discussion  about  the  prob 
able  course  of  events. 

"  I'll  bet  my  bottom  dollar  on  war,"  Eidgway  would 
say.  He  was  an  educated  man,  but  his  education  was 
now  somewhat  obscured  by  a  heavy  varnish  of  Western 
thought  and  expression. 

"  I'm  afraid  it  must  come  to  that,"  Heaton  would 
answer. 

"  Afraid! "  exclaimed  Eidgway,  after  one  of  these 
customary  preliminaries  of  conversation.  "Western 
men  haven't  got  much  to  be  afraid  of  in  a  thundering 
good  war,  anyhow." 

"  But  war  is  never  good,  whether  thundering  or  not. 
It  is  a  terrible  evil,  only  to  be  resorted  to  in  order  to 
avert  a  greater." 

"  That  may  be  the  case  with  you  Eastern  men.  But 
see  how  it  will  work  here.  Prices  will  go  up  like 

shot." 

"  Will  you  volunteer?  "  asked  Heaton,  not  inter 
ested  in  prices  whether  up  or  down. 

"  No,  siree.  I  sha'n't  enlist,  I  can  tell  you.  I'll  buy 
up  all  the  horses  I  can  lay  a  finger  on  and  sell  them 
down  at  Fort  Leavenworth.  That's  what  I  advise  you 


118  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

to  do  too.     There's  a  pile  to  be  made  out  of  that,  if 
only  we  have  a  war." 

"  I  shall  volunteer/'  repeated  Heaton  dreamily. 

"  Catch  me!  "  remarked  Ridgway. 

"Perhaps  there'll  be  enforced  enlistment.  You'd 
be  taken  among  the  first,  a  strapping  young  fellow  and 
a  good  shot/'  observed  Heaton. 

"  I'll  get  my  front  teeth  drawn  sooner  than  that," 
said  Ridgway,  with  decision. 

"What  good  would  that  do?  Only  spoil  your 
beauty." 

"  1  couldn't  bite  off  the  cartridges.  I  heard  a  fellow 
say  at  Fort  Leavenworth  that  no  man  could  be  a  soldier 
now  who  couldn't  bite  with  his  front  teeth,  on  account 
of  these  new  cartridges." 

Heaton  laughed.  "You  weren't  born  yesterday, 
that's  clear,  anyway. 

"  There  ain't  no  one'll  take  such  good  care  of  John 
P.  Ridgway  as  I  shall,  you  bet." 

He  was  not  really  a  bad  young  fellow  at  heart,  for  all 
he  was  so  self-centred.  He  didn't  "  lay  out  "  to  be  any 
thing  else  than  a  thoroughly  wide-awake  Western  man, 
trying  to  get  ahead  of  every  other  man  if  he  possibly 
could,  but  he  was  good-natured  to  his  friends  and  was 
not  at  all  selfish  in  little  things,  which,  after  all,  is  what 
tells  in  every-day  life. 


CHAPTER    XI 

THE    BUFFALO    HUNT 

SALINA  was  a  miserable  little  squatter  town  on  the 
very  last  limit  of  civilization.  It  would  have  been  ut 
terly  ashamed  of  itself  only  that  it  looked  hopefully  for 
ward  to  the  day  when  it  should  be  a  proud  city.  It 
never  reached  that  day,  but  this  failure  could  not  be 
expected  to  trouble  its  early  aspirations,  any  more  than 
the  prospective  failure  of  a  middle-aged  man  could 
weigh  in  anticipation  on  his  boyhood.  Salina  was 
young,  therefore  she  was  proud  and  hopeful.  South  of 
Salina,  some  thirteen  miles  away,  rise  the  "  Smoky 
Hills,"  as  lonely  and  desolate  a  place  as  can  well  be 
imagined,  but  one  possessed  of  a  certain  fascination  for 
travellers  in  the  days  long  ago  when  that  region  was  as 
yet  well-nigh  unexplored.  No  interest  attaches  to  a 
low  range  of  monotonous  hills  when  you  know  exactly 
what  other  range  comes  next,  and  so  on  and  so  forth 
to  the  end  of  the  map.  But  when  Heaton  went  to 
Salina  the  Smoky  Hills  were  the  very  edge  of  civiliza 
tion.  Beyond  them  imagination  and  the  buffaloes  'held 
possession  of  the  plains,  and  this  was  exhilarating. 
When  one  morning  he  walked  toward  them  and  saw  a 
small  ravine  with  some  trees  refracted  clean  out  of  the 
depression  in  which  they  habitually  lay  he  felt  a  keen 
delight  in  the  novel  spectacle.  The  blue  haze  which 
hangs  over  the  hills  and  which  furnishes  them  with 
their  name  was  still  visible  in  winter,  though  in  a  less 

119 


120  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

degree  than  in  summer  and  autumn.  Beyond  these 
delights  of  pure  sentiment  Salina  possesses  no  charm 
whatever,  and  after  laying  in  a  further  supply  of  neces 
sary  provisions  the  hunters  went  forward. 

A  local  man,  a  wolf  hunter,  accompanied  them  in 
order  to  get  their  protection  in  return  for  hints  about 
the  country,  such  as  strangers  might  find  useful.  Wolf 
hunter  is  a  fine  sounding  name  for  one  who  followed  a 
mean  and  most  unsportsmanlike  trade.  Never  a  shot 
fired  he,  never  a  trap  did  he  set,  but  merely  entered 
upon  his  trip  with  his  pockets  stuffed  with  strychnine. 
Having  poisoned  a  quantity  of  meat  near  some  water  he 
sat  down  and  waited.  The  wolves  came,  ate,  drank, 
and  were  conquered.  This  wholesale  poisoning  cleared 
every  dog  out  of  the  country  as  well  as  the  wolves. 
When  man  invades  a  new  region  he  lays  about  him  right 
masterfully;  trees,  animals,  everything  is  swept  away 
wholesale,  until  nothing  remains  but  malarial  fever  and 
the  mosquitoes  to  reduce  him  to  a  proper  sense  of  his 
own  relations  to  the  universe. 

Twenty-five  miles  was  a  short  day's  trip,  but  as 
that  was  the  distance  of  a  certain  cave  known  to  the 
wolf  killer  Heaton  and  Eidgway  determined  to  camp 
there  for  the  night. 

"  It's  a  powerful  cute  cave,"  said  the  wolf  killer; 
"  slep'  there  heap  o'  times.  There  ain't  nothin'  better 
nor  a  cave,  mos'  as  lief  sleep  there  as  in  any  cabin  I  ever 
seed.  There  ain't  no  children  screechin'  in  the  cave, 
and  they  most  allers  is  in  cabins.  Children  is  pesky 
critturs  for  making  noises."  He  was  in  the  habit  of 
lying  "  in  cache  "  for  the  wolves  to  come  along  and  feed 
on  his  poison  meat,  so  the  constant  noise  of  children 
struck  him  as  something  particularly  odious  and  diffi 
cult  to  deal  with. 

"Land  o'  liberty!  do  you  call  that  a  cave?"  cried 
Ilidgway,  when  he  was  shown  a  hole  in  the  rock  where 


THE  BUFFALO  HUNT  121 

a  man  could  with  circumspection  stand  up  in  one  spot 
only. 

"Wai,  I  guess  you  won't  git  any  better  cave  nor 
this — no,  not  if  you  scour  the  plain  as  far  as  Pike's 
Peak/'  said  the  wolf  killer,  somewhat  crestfallen  at  the 
scorn  with  which  his  cave  was  viewed. 

"  It's  bigger  than  the  wagon,  at  any  rate,"  said 
Heaton  politely. 

"  Guess  if  that  ar  cloud  come  'long  this  er  way  you 
won't  find  the  cave  so  bad." 

They  all  three  got  into  the  cave  and  soon  fell  asleep, 
as  tired  men  do  when  they  lie  down.  In  the  middle  of 
the  night  Heaton  was  roused  by  feeling  something  tug 
ging  at  his  beard.  He  put  up  his  hand  and  caught 
hold  of  a  rat. 

"  Yah!  "  he  yelled,  having  a  special  horror  of  rats. 
At  the  same  instant  there  was  a  flash  of  lightning  and  a 
clap  of  thunder  right  overhead. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you?  "  growled  Ridgway. 
"  Are  you  struck  by  lightning?  " 

"  No,"  said  Heaton;  "  but  there  was  a  rat  eating  my 
beard." 

"  What  a  tarnation  howl  for  nothin'!  "  remarked  the 
wolf  killer,  wrapping  his  head  in  his  buffalo  robe  and 
going  off  to  sleep  again. 

It  thundered  and  lightened  and  rained  a  good  part 
of  the  night,  but  the  cave  kept  the  men  dry.  When 
they  saw  their  soaked  wagon  covers  in  the  morning, 
with  the  wet  trickling  down  every  rib  and  making  pools 
inside,  the  wolf  killer  asked,  with  a  triumphant  air: 

"  Wai,  what  d'yer  think  o'  the  cave  now  yer've  tried 
it?" 

"  I  wouldn't  have  been  anywhere  else  last  night  for 
ten  dollars,"  said  Ridgway,  making  the  amende  hono 
rable. 

"  Jess  so.     I  'lowed  you'd  fin'  it  fust-rate  when  you 


122  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

knowed  by  trial  what  it  was.  I  don't  never  say  what 
a  horse  is  worth  myself  until  I've  tried  it." 

"  It's  a  good,  safe  rule  to  go  on/'  assented  Heaton. 

The  wolf  killer  grinned  affably. 

"  You'll  be  a-scenting  them  buffaloes  'bout  sundown 
to-morrow,"  he  observed  by  way  of  parting  advice,  as 
the  young  men  were  preparing  to  go  their  way.  "  Buff'- 
loes  ain't  af eared  of  nothin'  'cept  a  man  stan'ing  on  his 
hind  legs.  You'll  have  to  crope  up  on  yer  belly  ter  git 
inter  range.  The  bulls  is  pesky  critters  to  kill  an'  pow 
erful  tough  to  eat." 

"  We  sha'n't  waste  a  shot  on  a  bull,  I  can  tell  you," 
remarked  Ridgway.  "  We  ain't  like  those  fellows  that 
jest  lamm  away  at  anything  for  the  fun  of  it.  We're 
going  to  make  money  out  of  this  business  or  I'll  declare 
off,  I  will." 

"  Guess  you're  smart  'nough,  so  I'll  git,  anyhow. 
Mornin'." 

He  trudged  off  through  the  short  yellow  grass,  and 
the  young  men  drove  away  in  another  direction,  and 
they  soon  lost  sight  of  each  other. 

It  was  not  without  reason  that  the  wolf  hunter  had 
said  they  would  be  "  scenting  "  the  buffaloes,  for  the 
first  intimation  that  the  hunters  had  of  the  proximity 
of  their  game  was  conveyed  to  them  by  the  sense  of 
smell.  Dead  animals  in  every  stage  of  decomposition 
were  strewn  all  along  the  track  they  were  following.  A 
great  amount  of  buffalo  meat  had  been  taken  in  this 
season  of  dearth,  but  the  slaughter  and  waste  had  been 
greater  still.  Animals  had  been  destroyed  by  the  thou 
sand,  to  serve  no  possible  good,  while  their  rotting  car 
casses  only  helped  to  vitiate  the  air  for  miles  around. 
The  buffaloes  backed  slowly  farther  and  farther  away 
from  the  destructive  advance  of  man,  and  were  fully 
sixty  miles  from  Salina  when  Heaton  and  Ridgway  went 
forth  to  hunt. 


THE  BUFFALO  HUNT  123 

A  long  dreary  day  of  drizzling  rain  had  to  be  en 
dured  before  they  reached  the  hunting  grounds.  Eidg- 
way  was  filled  with  disgust. 

"  Unless  this  wet  spell  stops  we  sha'n't  be  able  to 
save  half  our  meat.  We  can't  salt  very  much,  and 
there'll  be  no  keeping  it  unless  we  are  helped  by  a 
frost/' 

The  outlook  was  not  cheering  from  the  money  point 
of  view,  but  when  they  saw  a  dark  brown  line  against 
the  distant  horizon  their  spirits  rose  and  the  hunter  in 
stinct  was  awakened. 

These  were  the  buffaloes. 

The  wagons  and  horses  were  left,  and  the  hunt  be 
gan  by  Heaton  and  Eidgway  walking  on  their  hands  and 
knees  for  fully  half  a  mile.  Never  before  had  Heaton 
covered  so  short  a  distance  in  so  painful  a  manner.  His 
knees  were  bruised  and  so  were  his  hands,  his  shoul 
ders  ached,  and  his  head  seemed  to  be  bursting  with  the 
pressure  on  the  back  of  his  neck.  Several  times  he 
lay  flat  down  in  his  misery  and  actually  groaned. 
Eidgway  also  lay  down,  only  he  swore  with  vigour  to 
relieve  the  pressure  of  his  feelings.  Again  they  crept 
forward,  in  single  file  this  time  so  as  to  lesson  the 
chance  of  being  seen,  Eidgway  in  front  with  the 
muzzle  of  his  gun  pointing  forward,  Heaton  just  be 
hind  with  his  muzzle  pointing  backward.  At  last 
they  got  within  a  long-range  shot,  when  an  old  cow, 
who  had  been  looking  intently  at  them  from  a  slight 
hillock,  came  to  the  conclusion  that  there  was  some 
thing  uncanny  in  the  curious  long  beast  that  was 
creeping  up.  She  gave  a  loud  bellow  of  alarm,  and 
instantly  the  whole  herd  galloped  off  a  half  mile  or 
more. 

"The  blamed  critters!"    said  Eidgway  in  disgust.  ' 
"  Just  see  how  spry  they  scoot  along  on  all  fours  and 
look  at  us! " 
9 


124  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

Heaton  lay  on  his  back  and  stretched  himself  in 
order  to  rest  his  strained  muscles. 

"  I  suppose  we'll  have  to  crawl  after  them.  About 
what  is  a  good  day's  march  for  a  buffalo  hunt,  eh?  Two 
miles?  I  don't  think  my  knees  will  stand  more  than 
that,"  he  observed,  looking  up  at  the  watery  sky.  The 
rain  had  stopped,  but  "the  ground  was  wet  to  add  to 
their  discomfort. 

"  Now,  whatever  you  do,  mind  and  don't  hit  a  bull," 
said  his  companion.  "  They  always  charge  when 
wounded,  and  they  are  the  deuce  to  manage.  You 
might  as  well  have  a  tiger  at  you.  There  was  a  fellow 
killed  here  this  summer,  I  hear — a  fool  of  an  Irishman; 
he  got  his  dander  up  shooting  and  blazed  away  anyhow. 
The  first  thing  he  knew  he  hit  a  bull  in  the  flank,  but 
didn't  break  a  leg  or  disable  him,  and  the  next  thing 
he  knew  that  bull  was  down  on  him  like  a  streak  of 
greased  lightning  and  the  Irishman  was  gone  to  the 
place  where  good  Irishmen  go,  or  where  the  bad  ones 
are  sent  to — jest  tossed  clean  out  o'  life  while  you'd  say 
'  Stars  and  Stripes.'  " 

Again  they  crawled  or  rather  wormed  themselves 
forward,  single  file  as  before,  and  this  time  they  got  near 
enough  for  Ridgway  to  fire.  He  did  so,  and  the  animal 
instantly  lowered  his  head. 

"Jerusalem,  if  it  ain't  a  bull!"  exclaimed  the 
hunter,  enlightened  as  to  the  sex  of  the  buffalo  by  the 
way  in  which  it  had  resented  being  shot. 

"Lord!"  exclaimed  Heaton;  "what  had  best  be 
done?  " 

"  Lie  quite  still;  he  don't  see  us.  He's  a  young  one 
and  not  very  cute  yet.  He  don't  know  what  to  do." 

"Lucky  for  us!" 

"  You  bet.  Guess  I'll  be  more  careful  next  time," 
said  Eidgway,  considerably  crestfallen  at  his  mistake. 

They  lay  still  a  long  time  until  the  herd  had  again 


THE  BUFFALO  HUNT  125 

settled  down  to  feeding,  and  then  they  got  a  little  nearer 
by  working  themselves  forward  with  their  elbows  while 
lying  flat  on  their  stomachs. 

"  A  quarter  of  a  mile  a  week  would  be  a  good  racing 
record  for  this  method  of  locomotion,"  remarked  Hea 
ton,  with  concentrated  scorn. 

They  were  now  within  about  a  hundred  yards  of  the 
herd — as  near  as  it  was  safe  to  get. 

"  Now,  then,  show  your  style.  We  shaVt  get  a  bet 
ter  range  than  this,"  said  Eidgway. 

Heaton  fired,  and  a  fat  cow  fell. 

Instantly  the  herd  was  in  commotion.  They  never 
attempted  to  run  away,  but  crowded  round  their 
wounded  comrade  and  showed  the  greatest  concern  for 
her,  bellowing  and  making  cries  of  distress.  As  she 
fell  to  rise  no  more  the  bulls  became  greatly  agitated. 
They  tried  to  raise  her  with  their  horns,  putting  their 
great  shaggy  heads  under  her  heaving  flanks  and  doing 
their  best  to  prop  her  up  and  get  her  on  her  feet  again. 

"Poor  brutes! "  said  Heaton,  watching  their  futile 
efforts  with  a  feeling  of  pity.  "  See  how  distressed  they 
are!  Man  only  is  remorseless,  crushing  and  destroying 
everything  in  his  relentless  march  toward  his  own  com 
fort." 

Two  more  young  heifers  were  shot.  The  bulls  faced 
round,  forming  a  ring  on  the  outside  of  the  herd,  bel 
lowing  and  glaring  in  aimless  fury  at  the  invisible  foe 
that  was  harassing  them.  There  was  a  vast  amount  of 
useless  courage  and  anger  stored  up  in  their  shaggy 
breasts,  if  only  they  had  known  upon  whom  and  what 
to  expend  it.  Fortunately  for  the  hunters  they  did  not 
know,  so  the  men  lay  in  the  grass  loading  and  firing 
very  slowly  and  with  much  difficulty,  while  the  bulls 
stamped  and  pawed  and  bellowed  to  no  purpose.  As 
often  as  they  quieted  down  and  opened  the  line  of  de 
fence  somewhat,  another  shot,  another  pinging  whir 


126  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

through  the  air,  and  another  bellow  of  despair,  told 
that  some  one  had  fired  and  some  one  had  fallen.  And 
after  each  shot  the  bulls  offered  again  their  useless  help 
in  trying  to  raise  the  stricken  cow,  and  again  faced 
round  and  roared  and  bellowed  with  impotent  rage. 
They  did  not  understand  that  it  was  the  firing  did  them 
the  harm,  or  they  could  easily  have  trotted  out  of  harm's 
way;  or  possibly  they  did  understand  that,  but  could  not 
make  out  where  the  shot  came  from,  seeing  no  enemy. 

The  hunt,  if  that  is  the  name  to  be  given  to  the 
crawl,  and  the  snake  wriggle,  and  the  firing,  had  lasted 
about  three  hours,  when  Ridgway  said: 

"  We've  got  two  wagon  loads  now;  we  can't  carry  off 
any  more  meat." 

"  Then  in  Heaven's  name  let  us  stop;  I've  had 
enough  of  shooting  like  this,"  said  Heaton,  who  very 
quickly  got  his  fill  of  mere  killing.  "  How  shall  we 
drive  off  the  herd  so  that  we  can  gather  up  our  meat?  " 

"Just  stand  up,  and  say  Glory,  halleluiah!  or  Star- 
Spangled  Banner,  or  any  other  tarnation  thing  you  like, 
loud  enough,  and  they'll  stampede  straight." 

So  they  stood  up  and  yelled  in  unison,  and  the  buffa 
loes,  at  last  recognising  the  enemy  of  their  race,  gal 
loped  off  in  terror,  with  a  few  wounded  animals  in  their 
midst,  who  later,  no  doubt,  dropped  in  their  tracks  and 
added  a  few  more  whiffs  to  the  pestiferous  air  of  the 
plains  where  the  hunters  love  to  operate. 

Two  puny  men  standing  up  and  yelling  at  a  thou 
sand  buffaloes  to  make  them  run  is  surely  a  striking 
example  of  the  force  of  mind  over  matter.  Any  one  of 
those  bulls  could  have  crushed  the  life  out  of  those 
hunters,  the  herd  with  a  rush  could  have  stamped  them 
into  dust  in  a  few  seconds,  and  yet  they  fled  before 
their  puny  adversaries,  carrying  away  in  one  thunder 
ous  rush  all  that  strength  and  courage  with  which  they 
had  been  so  uselessly  endowed.  The  mighty  herds  that 


THE  BUFFALO  HUNT  127 

used  to  darken  the  prairies  in  the  days  long  ago  are  all 
gone,  and  in  their  place  stands  man,  lord  of  creation, 
exultingly  surveying  the  desert  which  he  has  made 
around  him  by  the  extermination  of  the  wild  creatures 
of  the  earth.  Instead  of  buffaloes  on  the  prairies,  as  in 
the  brave  days  of  old,  we  now  have  the  domestic  pig 
wallowing  in  the  mire  and  eating  the  putrid  slush  of 
kitchen  refuse;  and  this  is  civilization!  Some  of  us 
there  are  who  would  prefer  the  buffaloes. 

And  now  there  followed  another  scene  in  the  pro 
ceedings  of  so  disagreeable  a  character  that  we  had  best 
draw  a  veil  over  it,  and  if  the  veil  were  anything  like 
Heaton,  his  hands,  his  clothes,  his  hair,  his  boots,  in 
fact  every  inch  of  him,  it  would  be  a  very  bloody  veil 
indeed. 

Suffice  it  to  say  that  after  two  days  of  desperate  hard 
work  they  had  all  their  meat  safe  and  salted  down  and 
packed  in  the  wagons.  The  buffalo  hides  were  rolled 
up  tight  and  placed  at  the  bottom  of  the  wagons  under 
the  meat,  while  the  beefsteaks,  cut  into  long  thin  strips, 
were  hung  all  over  the  outside,  thus  ornamenting  the 
canvas  covers  with  a  gruesome  fringe.  Heaton's  nerves 
were  none  of  the  strongest,  and  he  was  disgusted  with 
the  details  of  the  job,  but  he  never  shirked  his  share 
of  the  work  from  first  to  last.  But  when  it  was  all  over 
and  he  had  made  a  certain  amount  of  progress  toward 
cleaning  himself  once  more  he  remarked,  while  putting 
his  hunting  knife  finally  into  its  sheath: 

"  Well,  if  there  is  one  thing  that  would  make  a  man 
abjure  the  flesh  and  the  devil  and  turn,  vegetarian  I 
think  it  is  a  spell  of  butchering  work  after  a  buffalo 
hunt." 

The  long  homeward  journey  back  across  the  plains 
to  civilization  and  commercial  profits  began  under  the 
happiest  auspices.  The  weather  "had  come  round," 
Ridgway  remarked,  as  if  it  was  a  sulky  person  who  was 


128  THE  JAY-HAWKEUS 

beginning  to  relent  into  civility  again.  The  wet  drizzle 
had  ceased,  and  a  dry  northwest  wind  was  blowing  keen 
ly  across  the  open  prairie.  The  sharp  wind  searched 
out  the  sore  and  bruised  spots  on  their  knees  and  made 
them  smart.  But  it  was  good  for  their  load  of  meat, 
and  morning,  noon,  and  night,  when  the  load  had  to  be 
taken  out,  shifted,  salted,  and  smelled  anew,  he  greeted 
the  wind  with  many  words  of  approval  and  commenda 
tion. 

"  This  is  bully.  We  shaVt  lose  a  pound  of  meat  if 
it  lasts.  We  could  stand  a  spell  of  yet  colder  weather 
though." 

And  the  wind  kindly  accommodated  them  with  "  a 
spell."  It  froze  at  night  and  did  not  thaw  by  day. 
The  loads  of  meat  did  not  require  three  shifts  a  day, 
but  only  two.  The  strips  of  beefsteak  outside  got  stiff 
and  rattled  against  the  stays  of  the  wagons  in  a  grizzly 
manner,  "  like  dead  men's  bones,"  Heaton  suggested. 

At  Fort  Eiley  they  had  their  horses  fresh  shod  with 
frost  calks.  The  people  there  urged  them  to  stay,  as 
the  weather  looked  like  turning  dangerously  cold.  It 
had  done  so  a  couple  of  years  before,  when  several  team 
sters,  caught  out  in  a  snowstorm,  had  been  frozen  to 
death.  But  the  young  men  felt  equal  to  withstanding 
any  amount  of  cold  themselves,  and  they  were  anxious 
to  sell  their  meat.  They  were  advised  in  any  case  to 
avoid  passing  through  the  Pottawatomi  reservation, 
since  there  the  houses  were  few  and  far  between,  and  it 
would  be  hard  for  them  to  obtain  shelter.  So,  at  the 
cost  of  making  their  journey  somewhat  longer,  they  de 
termined  to  take  the  southern  and  more  settled  route  to 
Lawrence. 

This  route  would  take  them  through  such  classic 
and  poetic  spots  as  Mountain  City,  Alma,  Brownsville, 
Cow  Corner,  Carthnge,  and  Big  Spring.  At  each  of 
these  centres  the  blacksmith  at  Fort  Riley  could  vouch 


THE  BUFFALO  HUNT  129 

for  the  existence  of  log  cabins,  whether  inhabited  or 
not  he  could  not  undertake  to  say,  not  having  "  hearn 
tell  "  of  the  district  for  some  time  past.  It  was  not  the 
season  for  much  traffic. 

The  northwest  wind  blew  keener  and  keener,  the 
meat  was  frozen  into  solid  chunks  and  had  not  to  be 
shifted  at  all,  which  saved  them  a  good  deal  of  labour, 
but  the  creeks  were  beginning  to  freeze,  and  they  had 
to  break  the  ice  with  axes  before  crossing,  which  was 
wet  and  miserably  cold  work.  The  ice,  it  should  be 
observed,  was  in  the  intermediate  stage  of  freezing, 
thick  enough  to  make  the  horses  slip  and  run  the  risk 
of  breaking  their  legs,  and  yet  not  thick  enough  to  bear 
the  weight  of  the  wagons. 

"  Guess  we'll  have  earned  our  money  when  we  get 
it,"  observed  Eidgway,  as  he  sat  on  the  frozen  ground 
and  pulled  off  his  fast-freezing  boots  in  order  to  put  on 
a  dry  pair.  They  had  just  passed  a  very  nasty  creek, 
neither  water  nor  hard  ice,  but  an  abominable  compro 
mise  between  the  .two,  through  which  they  had  to  hack 
their  way  up  to  their  knees  in  freezing  water. 

"It's  all  right  if  only  it  doesn't  snow,"  observed 
Heaton,  looking  anxiously  at  the  sky.  "  Out  in  Ver 
mont  we  used  always  to  look  for  snow  with  a  lead-col 
oured  sky  like  that  in  winter." 

"  Gol  dern  it,  if  it  snows  we'll  never  get  through," 
said  Ridgway,  looking  anxiously  at  the  leaden  sky  him 
self.  "  We're  eight  miles  from  Carthage  by  my  reckon 
ing.  Let's  push  ahead  and  cross  the  last  creek  by  day 
light,  anyhow.  Once  we  get  out  of  the  bottom  land  we 
can  smell  our  way  to  Carthage,  I  reckon." 

So  they  pushed  along  as  fast  as  tired  and  heavy- 
laden  horses  could,  and  got  through  the  creek  by  the 
last  shreds  of  daylight,  just  as  a  few  fine  flakes  of  snow, 
or  rather  snow  dust,  began  to  be  driven  against  their 
faces  by  a  fierce  northwester. 


130  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

"  This  is  one  of  those  Dakota  gales  the  Indians  tell 
about,  saying  they  bury  men  as  they  walk  and  smother 
buffaloes  in  their  tracks.  If  Carthage  don't  show  up 
pretty  smart  we'll  go  the  way  of  the  buffaloes,  I  reckon." 

Eidgway  was  clearly  anxious,  and  made  all  possible 
haste,  but  it  was  slow  work,  since  the  long  hill  out  of 
the  bottom  lands  had  necessitated  their  doubling  teams 
to  draw  up  the  wagons.  One  load  was  standing  safely 
on  the  high  prairie,  and  the  four  horses  had  brought  up 
the  second  nearly  to  the  top,  when  the  snowstorm  be 
came  rapidly  thicker. 

Heaton  was  in  front  with  a  lantern  trying  to  make 
out  the  track,  when  a  sudden  snap  and  a  stoppage  of  the 
horses  betokened  disaster. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  shouted  through  the 
storm. 

"  Don't  know  yet,"  said  Eidgway,  climbing  down  out 
of  his  driving  seat  and  beginning  to  feel  among  the 
horses  and  the  harness  for  evidence  of  the  nature  of  the 
disaster  which  had  stopped  them.  Heaton  came  up  to 
him  with  the  lantern. 

"  The  pole,  by  Jupiter! "  exclaimed  Eidgway. 
"  Broken  clean  across." 

"  That's  a  pretty  how  d'ye  do,"  said  Heaton. 
"  What's  to  be  done  now?  " 

"  We've  got  to  leave  this  wagon  here  in  its  tracks 
and  go  ahead  with  the  other  to  Carthage.  Guess  we'll 
make  it  to-night  with  four  horses." 

"  And  leave  this  wagon  here  in  the  road!  Suppose 
other  folks  come  by — there'll  be  a  collision,"  remarked 
Heaton. 

"  Guess  there  ain't  no  other  fools  cavortin'  around 
to-night  'cept  ourselves,"  replied  Eidgway  with  a  laugh, 
as  he  began  to  get  his  horses  free  from  the  disabled 
wagon  as  fast  as  he  could. 

Meantime  the  snowstorm  was  becoming  every  min- 


THE  BUFFALO  HUNT  131 

ute  more  severe  and  the  cold  more  biting.  It  was  with 
difficulty  that  they  were  able  to  make  out  the  other 
wagon  in  the  blinding  storm.  The  horses  got  fright 
ened,  and,  tired  as  they  were,  would  hardly  stand  to  be 
hitched  up. 

"  We'll  freeze  if  we  attempt  to  camp  in  such  a  gale. 
We  must  try  for  Carthage.  It  lies  due  east  two  miles 
from  the  crossing,"  said  Eidgway,  setting  his  teeth  and 
roaring  at  Heaton,  who  was  carrying  the  lantern  in. 
order  to  show  the  track  more  clearly  to  the  driver  of  the 
wagon.  The  storm  and  the  darkness  increased.  The 
fringe  of  frozen  meat  rattled  furiously  upon  the  wagon 
top,  almost  frightening  even  Eidgway  by  the  tremen 
dous  bumps  it  gave.  The  driving  snow  seemed  like  a 
dust  storm,  so  fine  and  dry  as  almost  to  smother  them. 
The  horses  commenced  to  cough  and  sneeze,  evidently 
suffering  also,  and  the  youngest  began  to  pant  as  if 
choking.  Suddenly  the  wagon  went  plumb  down  on 
one  side  and  stuck.  Eidgway  got  down  again  and 
Heaton  came  back. 

"  Another  pole  gone?  " 

"  No.  Got  into  a  ploughed  furrow,  by  gosh.  Car 
thage  ain't  a  pistol  shot  from  here,  if  we  can  only  find  it 
in  this  blamed  storm." 

"  If  it's  only  a  pistol  shot  away  a  pistol  shot  will 
rouse  it  up.  I'll  fire  into  the  air." 

"  'Tain't  a  bad  notion.     Blaze  away." 

Heaton  fired,  and  very  faintly  across  the  storm  there 
came  the  sound  of  a  dog  barking. 

"  Hark!  That's  it,"  said  Eidgway.  "  It's  straight 
ahead." 

"  I  thought  it  came  from  the  right,"  said  Heaton. 

"  Try  the  horses.  My  gray  mare's  as  good  as  a  com 
pass.  You  bet  she  knows  straighter  than  we  do  where 
that  bark  came  from." 

When  the  horses  were  unfastened  from  the  wagon 


132  TEE  JAY-HAWKERS 

the  young  men  mounted  the  best  of  each  pair,  and  the 
gray  mare  was  given  her  head.  She  started  straight  off 
nearly  in  the  direction  they  had  come,  heading  against 
the  storm,  with  ears  laid  back  on  her  neck  and  head 
down.  The  others  followed,  snorting  and  coughing, 
much  frightened  at  the  howling  storm. 

"  The  mare's  at  fault,"  said  Eidgway,  pulling  her 
up  and  ranging  alongside  of  Heaton.  "  We've  lost  the 
scent  and  the  wagon  too.  We'll  freeze  here  inside  the 
ploughed  land  'less  we  can  make  that  blamed  cabin." 

"  I'll  try  another  shot,"  said  Heaton,  suiting  the  ac 
tion  to  the  word.  A  much  louder  bark  answered  the 
signal,  and  a  faint  flashing  light  seemed  to  flicker  be 
fore  them.  The  gray  mare  whinnied. 

"  By  Jupiter!  she's  right  as  usual,"  cried  Kidgway 
triumphantly.  "  Good  old  girl!  " 

Not  twenty  yards  away  they  came  upon  a  fence. 
The  barking  grew  louder,  and  mingled  with  it  and  the 
roar  of  the  storm  there  came  a  faint  cry,  as  of  a  woman's 
voice.  Another  flicker  of  light. 

"  They're  signalling  to  us,"  said  Heaton,  and  raising 
his  voice  he  gave  a  long-sustained,  high-pitched  Swiss 
yodel  note,  which  sounded  over  the  roar  of  the  storm, 
and  was  answered  by  a  chorus  of  scr earnings. 

"  Dish  way,  Sambo;  dish  'ere  de  bars!  "  yelled  the 
voice  of  an  unmistakable  negro. 

"  I  never  knew  a  darky  act  so  well  the  part  of  an 
angel  of  light,"  said  Ridgway,  coming  up  to  the  bars 
which  a  pair  of  young  negroes  were  letting  down  with 
energy. 

"  Dat  yo',  Sambo?  "  they  asked. 

"Where's  the  house?"  asked  Ridgway  in  reply. 
"  Show  us  the  way." 

The  lads  led  the  men  and  their  horses  toward  the 
glimmering  light.  The  door  was  open,  and  a  darkly 
outlined  figure  stood  there. 


THE  BUFFALO   HUNT  133 

"  Can  you  take  us  in,  stranger?  "  asked  Ridgway. 
"  We're  caught  by  the  storm,  and  we've  got  four  horses 
here." 

"  Certainly,"  answered  a  sweet  girlish  voice.  "  It's 
an  awful  night  for  man  or  horse.  Pete  and  Moses,  go 
and  show  them  the  stable.  There  is  room  for  four 
horses  and  there  is  some  fodder.  Isn't  Sambo  come?  " 
she  added  to  Moses. 

"  No;  only  white  gen'lemen,"  he  replied. 

"  Thank  you,  madam,"  said  Heaton. 

"  Thank  your  stars  we're  out  of  that  storm.  We'd 
have  all  been  dead  by  morning,"  remarked  Ridgway  to 
Heaton  as  they  followed,  under  the  guidance  of  the 
darkies,  to  where  there  was  shelter  to  be  obtained  for 
their  exhausted  horses. 


CHAPTER   XII 

HELP   AT   NEED 

IT  will  be  remembered  that  when  Nancy  Overton 
sold  her  farm  in  Missouri  it  was  with  the  object  of  pro 
ceeding  into  Kansas  and  settling  on  free  soil  along  with 
her  negroes,  to  whom  she  would  thereby  give  their 
freedom.  She  was  only  a  young  and  generous  girl,  very 
ignorant  of  the  world  and  its  ways,  following  in  a  very 
impulsive  manner  her  own  high  purpose  without  much 
forethought.  For  example,  had  she  been  wise,  or 
"  cute,"  as  the  expression  goes,  she  would  never  have 
gone  to  settle  in  the  dead  of  winter,  but  would  have 
waited  until  the  spring  opened.  But  she  never  thought 
of  that.  She  was  eager  to  be  gone  with  her  slaves  and 
save  them  while  yet  there  was  time. 

The  journey  took  more  money  than  she  had  ex 
pected,  so  that  she  found  herself  unable  to  buy  a  farm 
large  enough  for  her  small  colony  near  Lawrence. 
Prices  were  too  high.  People  told  her,  however,  that 
she  could  get  land  very  cheap  a  little  way  west,  and  in 
particular  at  a  spot  called  Carthage.  There  the  soil  was 
good,  the  river  valley  gave  convenient  timber,  and  alto 
gether  it  was  represented  as  an  ideal  spot.  So  Nancy, 
with  her  negroes,  departed  out  of  Lawrence  and  went 
to  Carthage.  Sure  enough  she  found  a  little  cluster  of 
cabins  of  various  sizes,  and  among  them  one  very  toler 
able  house.  The  place  belonged  to  a  man  who  was  eager 
to  sell.  He  had  had  ague  for  eight  weeks,  and  so  had 
134 


HELP  AT  NEED  135 

his  family;  they  were  indeed  mere  shaking  skeletons. 
Nancy  quickly  concluded  the  bargain,  buying  the  land, 
farming  implements,  and  a  few  gaunt  specimens  of 
cows  from  the  sickly  owner.  She  paid  very  nearly  all 
the  ready  money  she  had,  and  was  obliged  to  throw  in 
one  wagon  and  a  pair  of  horses  besides.  Into  this 
wagon  the  late  owner  got. and  drove  away,  leaving  Nancy 
the  sole  owner  of  the  aspiring  town  of  Carthage,  with 
the  land  thereunto  appertaining. 

There  were  several  log  cabins  collected  around  the 
house,  and  into  these  Nancy  apportioned  her  negroes, 
some  twelve  souls  in  all,  including  the  children.  Now, 
twelve  people,  even  if  their  skins  be  black,  eat  a  good 
deal,  and  before  she  had  been  many  days  in  her  new 
house  Nancy  realized  that  she  had  not  enough  corn  on 
the  premises  to  keep  them  going  for  a  week.  She  dis 
covered  to  her  horror  that  the  corn  stacks,  which  she 
had  bought  standing,  and  which  looked  fine  enough, 
had  been  burrowed  into  and  were  almost  skinned  of 
their  ears  of  corn.  She  had  never  properly  calculated 
either  the  food  supply  or  the  trickiness  of  a  Western 
farmer,  and  the  vender  had  not  reminded  her  of  her 
omission.  The  Carthaginian  indeed,  true  to  his  name, 
had  displayed  a  veritable  "  Punic  perfidy."  The  coun 
try  round  about  was  bare  of  inhabitants.  They  had  fled 
from  the  wrath  to  come  in  the  shape  of  scarcity  of  food, 
which  was  likely  to  become  greater  and  greater  as  time 
went  on.  Tecumseh,  the  nearest  town,  was  seven  miles 
away,  and  was  too  busy  with  its  own  a.ffairs  to  be  both 
ered  with  a  young  woman  and  a  parcel  of  freed  negroes. 

These  poor  creatures  were  not  much  consolation  to 
their  somewhat  quixotic  mistress,  at  least  with  the  ex 
ception  of  Aunt  Monin.  They  had  of  course  no  self- 
dependence,  but  expected  to  be  fed  regularly,  as  they 
had  been  accustomed  to  be  fed  in  Missouri.  They  were 
satisfied  with  corn  bread,  but  there  must  be  enough  and 


136  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

to  spare  of  that.  At  her  wits'  end  to  know  what  to  do, 
Nancy  had  sent  her  eldest  negro,  a  youth  of  about 
seventeen,  Sambo  by  name,  and  by  nature  the  wildest 
coon  that  ever  capered,  into  Tecumseh,  to  try  to  ex 
change  a  pair  of  horses  for  a  load  of  corn.  She  directed 
him  to  go  to  a  merchant  with  whom  she  had  had  some 
dealings,  and  implored  the  latter  to  attend  to  this  busi 
ness  for  her,  as  they  were  starving.  Sambo  had  been 
gone  two  days,  and  there  was  no  news  of  him.  Nancy 
began  to  perceive  that  she  should  have  gone  herself  into 
Tecumseh,  and  not  have  deputed  a  negro  boy  to  under 
take  such  an  important  piece  of  business;  but  she  was 
busy  overseeing  the  cutting  up  of  some  logs  which  had 
to  be  obtained  by  dismantling  an  old  log  cabin  which 
they  did  not  immediately  require.  It  was  heavy  work, 
which  the  negroes  always  shirked  unless  she  was  look 
ing  on  and  lending  an  occasional  hand,  and  since  their 
fuel  for  the  winter  was  to  be  obtained  that  way  and  no 
other,  it  was  important  to  keep  it  going. 

The  weather  had  become  exceedingly  cold.  The 
negroes  shrivelled  up  and  were  well-nigh  useless,  so  she 
brought  them  into  her  own  house  in  order  that  a  single 
fire  might  suffice  to  warm  them  all  with  the  least  pos 
sible  expenditure  of  the  precious  logs.  They  had 
passed  a  long  and  anxious  day,  with  very  little  to  eat, 
when  the  snowstorm  came  on,  and  poor  Nancy's  heart 
sank  within  her.  Darkness,  and  no  Sambo  and  no  corn 
— what  was  she  to  do  ?  There  was  only  a  very  little  meal 
left  in  the  bag,  scarcely  enough  to  give  one  whole  pone 
to  each  person,  and  three  pones  per  diem  with  plenty  of 
milk  was  the  minimum  upon  which  a  negro  could  well 
live. 

The  milk,  which  was  scarce,  was  given  to  the  young 
est  children,  and  Nancy,  declaring  she  did  not  feel 
hungry,  sat  down  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  buried  her 
face  in  her  hands,  and  wept.  She  had  meant  well,  but 


HELP  AT  NEED  137 

her  good  intentions  seemed  all  turning  to  evil.  She 
had  meant  to  act  a  noble  part,  setting  her  negroes  free 
to  begin  a  fresh  life,  unbranded  by  the  curse  of  slavery, 
but  all  she  had  done  was  to  bring  them  from  plenty  into 
famine  and  possible  death  upon  the  snow-driven  prairie. 
Her  heart  turned  longingly  back  to  that  cosy  home  in 
Missouri,  and  she  sobbed  aloud. 

"  Chile,  what  yo'  pinin'  'bout?  "  said  Aunt  Monin's 
voice  at  her  ear. 

"  All  my  life  is  a  failure,  and  I  don't  know  what  to 
do,"  said  Nancy,  helplessly  raising  her  tear-dimmed 
eyes  to  her  old  nurse's  face.  The  other  negroes  were 
lying,  and  squatting,  and  sitting  around  the  fire  in  vari 
ous  attitudes  of  warmth  and  content.  They  were  talk 
ing  together  in  low,  subdued  tones  under  the  awe-in 
spiring  presence  of  "  Miss  Nancy,"  upon  whom  they 
still  looked  with  a  species  of  distant  reverence. 

"Yo'  jess  put  yo'  trus'  in  de  Lo'd,  my  precious 
honey-chile.  He  comfo't  yo'  in  yer  'fliction." 

"  He  will  not  feed  us,  Aunt  Monin,  if  we  can't  get 
corn,"  was  Nancy's  melancholy  answer. 

"  De  Lo'd  he  sen'  food  out  o'  de  storm,  as  he  sen' 
manna  in  de  wil'erness,  ter  feed  his  chillun,"  said  the 
old  woman,  a  sort  of  religious  frenzy  lighting  up  her 
face  and  making  her  eyes  flame. 

"  Jess  look  yonder  at  young  ole  Carlo  pup,  he  done 
scent  suthin!  "  cried  one  of  the  young  darkies  at  the 
fire.  They  all  jumped  up  as  the  big  yellow  dog  went  to 
the  door  and  seemed  to  listen  and  sniff  under  the  sill. 

"See  dar  now!"  cried  Aunt  Monin,  with  exulta 
tion.  "Dat's  Sambo  a-comin'  home  wid  de  corn. 
Glory,  halleluiah! " 

"  Open  the  door  and  show  a  light.  Get  a  torch  of 
pine  wood.  It  is  dark  outside,"  said  Nancy. 

They  opened  the  door,  and  a  swirl  of  snow  came  in 
through  the  opening,  although  it  was  on  the  south  side, 


138  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

and  therefore  somewhat  sheltered  from  the  full  fury  of 
the  gale. 

"  Lordy,  oh!  "  cried  one  of  the  darkies,  driven  back 
in  alarm;  "  dat  ar  Sambo  he  git  snowed  up  in  de  drif ." 

"  Take  the  dog  out  with  you  and  listen/'  said  Nancy. 

"  Don't  yer  go  for  ter  shut  de  door!  "  cried  the  lad 
in  an  extremity  of  terror,  shaking  from  head  to  foot 
from  the  combined  effects  of  fright  and  of  cold. 

"  Yo',  Pete,  yo'  p'ison  lazy  nigga,  yo'  come  back  in 
hyar.  I  go  'long  o'  dat  dorg  an'  bring  Sambo  in.  De 
Lo'd  done  hearn  de  voice  o'  de  widder  an'  de  orphing," 
said  Aunt  Monin  in  a  state  of  extreme  exaltation  and 
excitement.  She  was  on  the  point  of  stepping  straight 
out  just  as  she  stood  in  her  thin  cotton  frock,  when 
Nancy  hastily  wrapped  her  in  a  huge  quilt,  head  and  all, 
merely  leaving  her  eyes  uncovered. 

"  Don't  venture  a  single  step  beyond  the  corner  of 
the  house,"  she  urged  upon  the  old  woman  anxiously,  as 
the  latter  left  the  room. 

The  instant  the  door  was  opened  the  dog  gave  a  loud 
sharp  bark. 

"  Dat  Sambo  fo'  shu',"  said  Aunt  Monin  with  much 
satisfaction. 

She  went  to  the  corner  of  the  house  and  listened  in 
tently  for  some  minutes,  then  she  went  to  another  cor 
ner  and  listened  again,  bearing  her  ole  head  to  the 
storm,  but  all  in  vain;  she  could  hear  nothing  save  the 
roar  of  the  gale. 

"Lan'!  Dish  ole  nigga  can't  hear  worth  a  rotten 
corncob.  I'se  gettin'  deef,  dat  I  is,  anyhow." 

She  was  just  turning  back  to  the  door  when  a  sharp, 
quick  sound  aroused  even  her  old  ears.  A  pistol  shot, 
and  not  far  away  either.  The  dog  barked  furiously. 
Aunt  Monin  set  up  a  shrill  scream  as  she  ran  exultingly 
back  to  the  house. 

"  Dar's  de  help  de  Lo'd  sen'  yo',  Miss  Nancy,  in  yer 


HELP  AT  NEED  139 

tribulation.  He  done  got  to  de  bars! "  she  cried  ex 
citedly.  "  Yo',  Pete,  an'  Moses,  jess  scoot  out  an'  let 
down  de  bars  so  as  de  wagon  'ull  git  safe  in.  We's 
gwine  ter  'joice  in  de  'bundance  o'  de  Ian',  an'  have  hot 
corn  cake  fo'  de  supper." 

The  dog  was  growling  fiercely,  and  the  negroes  with 
shrill  screamings  and  screechings  rushed  forth  with 
naming  pieces  of  pitch  pine  in  their  hands,  which  they 
snatched  from  the  fire,  but  which  the  storm  extin 
guished  almost  as  soon  as  they  got  outside. 

"  Shut  the  dog  up  in  my  room,  Susannah.  He  might 
frighten  the  horses  by  barking  and  jumping  around 
them  in  the  dark." 

Susannah  put  her  arms  around  the  dog's  neck  and 
took  him  into  Nancy's  private  room,  which  opened  off 
the  kitchen  and  was  reserved  to  her  use,  no  one  but 
Aunt  Monin  ever  being  supposed  to  enter  it.  Susannah 
was  a  gentle,  vacant-eyed  creature,  who  had  never  recov 
ered  the  shock  of  her  baby's  death  at  Mine  Creek.  She 
was  quite  harmless,  however,  and  evinced  a  doglike 
affection  for  Nancy.  She  was  not  unhappy,  for  kindly 
Providence  in  crushing  her  with  a  blow  had  mercifully 
laid  the  hand  of  oblivion  upon  her  clouded  brain.  The 
vacant  eye  betokened  the  vacant  mind. 

As  we  have  seen,  it  was  not  Sambo  with  a  load  of 
corn,  but  the  two  hard-pressed  hunters  who  came  to 
Nancy  out  of  the  storm.  Although  her  native  kindness 
of  heart  and  the  hospitality  taught  by  Western  life 
made  her  receive  these  unexpected  guests  with  cordial 
ity,  she  was  in  truth  grievously  disappointed  to  see  them 
instead  of  Sambo,  whose  return  she  was  so  anxiously 
awaiting.  She  could  give  them  shelter  from  the  storm, 
but  she  could  not  give  them  food.  There  was  no  food 
left,  except  that  mere  pittance  of  cornmeal,  and  if  Sam 
bo  did  not  come  sheer  starvation  stared  her  in  the  face. 
What  should  she  do?  She  shrank  with  nervous  dread 
10 


140  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

from  proclaiming  her  destitution  before  these  strangers, 
but  she  knew  that  sooner  or  later  it  would  have  to  come 
out  that  she  had  no  corn.  It  came  out  very  soon,  for 
Heaton  shortly  returned  to  the  house  in  quest  of  a  feed 
of  corn  for  his  horses,  as  his  own  was  in  the  wagon  that 
was  stalled  in  the  ploughed  furrows. 

In  the  uncertain  light  of  the  nickering  fire  the 
young  man  at  first  thought  there  was  no  one  but  negroes 
in  the  room  when  he  entered  it;  then  he  saw  Nancy, 
and,  taking  off  his  hat,  said: 

"  I  come  as  a  beggar.  Can  you  give  us  a  feed  for  our 
horses?  " 

"  I  would  gladly,  if  I  had  any  corn,"  answered 
Nancy  in  a  sad  voice;  "  but  I  have  none.  We  were  ex 
pecting  the  wagon  with  a  load  when  you  came.  There 
is  some  fodder  in  the  loft  over  the  feed  troughs.  Give 
that  to  your  horses/'  Heaton  thanked  her  and  went 
back  to  the  stable,  escorted  by  the  faithful  Moses,  who 
would  have  faced  any  snowstorm  that  ever  blew  out  of 
Dakota  for  the  honour  and  excitement  of  following  a 
strange  white  man  around  and  hearing  him  talk,  with 
the  chance  of  occasionally  getting  in  a  word  of  his  own. 

One  of  the  chances  now  occurred,  and  Moses  made 
the  most  of  it. 

"  We  hain't  got  nary  ear  o'  corn  f o'  ter  roas'  f o'  we 
uns  ter  eat,  mas'r.  We  done  eat  de  corn  'way  from  de 
horses  a'ready,"  said  he,  as  soon  as  they  found  them 
selves  once  more  under  the  shelter  of  the  stable. 

"  Good  Lord,  Bidgway!  these  poor  creatures  are 
starving!  They  haven't  a  grain  of  corn  for  man  or 
beast." 

"  Jerusalem!  "  whistled  Kidgway;  "  we  can't  stir  a 
step  to-morrow  unless  these  horses  are  well  fed." 

"  Oh,  confound  the  horses!  "  replied  Heaton  angrily. 
"  I  tell  you  the  people  haven't  anything  to  eat,  and 
there's  a  young  girl  in  the  house,  too." 


HELP  AT  NEED 

"Well,  I'm  sorry  for  her,  so  I  am.  This  ain't  no 
place  for  young  girls/'  answered  Eidgway,  climbing 
into  the  loft  and  reaching  down  the  fodder.  Too  much 
depended  upon  his  horses  for  him  not  to  make  them  as 
comfortable  as  he  possibly  could  under  the  circum 
stances. 

"  This  loft  will  be  a  slap-up  place  for  us  to  sleep; 
fodder  keeps  out  the  cold  if  you  burrow  into  it/'  he  add 
ed,  always  having  an  eye  to  the  future. 

"  Say,  you  darkies,  what's  the  name  of  your  mas 
ter?  "  inquired  Heaton. 

"  We  uns  hain't  got  none,  mas'r." 

"  That's  a  fact,  anyhow,"  laughed  Eidgway.  "  This 
is  a  free  State,  you  know.  I  wonder  at  your  asking  the 
question." 

"  I  mean  who  owns  the  farm?  " 

"  Miss  Nancy,  she  done  buy  de  Ian'." 

"  Isn't  there  any  man  about  the  place  ?  " 

"  No,  mas'r;  on'y  we  niggas  an'  Miss  Nancy." 

"  Land  sakes,  you  don't  say  so!  "  ejaculated  Eidgway 
in  amazement. 

"  Who  is  the  young  lady  in  the  house?  " 

"  Dat  ar  Miss  Nancy,"  replied  the  lads  in  chorus. 

"Lord!  and  she's  not  got  any  corn!  "  said  Heaton, 
putting  out  his  lantern  preparatory  to  opening  the 
door.  When  they  did  so  they  found  themselves  envel 
oped  in  a  swirl  of  choking  snow  dust,  but  the  house  was 
not  far,  and,  guided  by  its  glimmering  light,  they  rushed 
across  the  yard. 

"This  is  my  companion— Eidgway,"  said  Heaton, 
undertaking  the  duties  of  introduction,  since  he  had 
already  been  in  the  house  and  seen  its  youthful  mistress. 
"  My  name  is  Heaton,  and  we  are  buffalo  hunters." 

Then,  of  course,  followed  an  account  of  the  even 
ing's  disasters  which  had  led  them  to  Nancy's  door. 
"It  was  the  greatest  good  luck  I  ever  had,"  said 


142  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

Heaton.  "  To  think  of  your  dog  being  let  out  just  in 
time  to  bark  at  my  pistol  shot!  " 

"Young  man/'  said  Aunt  Monin  impressively, 
"'twarn't  on'y  luck  what  d'rect'  yo'  ter  dish  house. 
It  was  de  han'  o'  de  Lo'd  sen'  yo'  hyar  ter  save  yo'." 

"Well,  granny,  you  are  right,  anyhow,  in  saying  it 
was  the  saving  of  us,"  assented  Heaton  readily.  "  We'd 
have  stood  a  poor  chance  of  walking  if  we'd  been  obliged 
to  sleep  on  the  open  prairie  on  such  a  night  as  this." 

"  De  han'  o'  de  Lo'd  d'rect'  yo'  ter  dish  house  f er  ter 
save  yo',  body  an'  soul,"  said  Aunt  Monin,  looking  far 
away  over  his  head  and  speaking  in  a  strain  of  exalted 
enthusiasm. 

Eidgway  gave  a  short  laugh,  Heaton  was  non 
plussed,  and  Nancy  felt  a  little  ashamed. 

"  She  is  sometimes  a  little  strange  in  her  language," 
she  said  apologetically  to  the  young  men.  "  She  was 
much  excited  by  the  storm,  and  was  just  predicting  help 
when  you  came  up." 

Whenever  Nancy  spoke  to  Heaton  Aunt  Monin 
watched  the  pair  with  a  curious  gaze,  looking  intently 
from  one  to  the  other  as  if  she  expected  something  more 
remarkable  than  polite  interchange  of  news  between 
total  strangers. 

"  We  are  not  much  help,  I  fear,"  said  Heaton  hur 
riedly,  in  answer  to  Nancy's  observation,  "  only  an 
added  burden,  but  to-morrow  we  shall  be  able  to  get 
our  wagon  and " 

"  Any  carpenters  hereabouts?  "  burst  in  Eidgway 
hastily,  evidently  with  a  desire  to  stop  Heaton  from 
saying  anything  as  to  what  their  wagons  contained.  He 
knew  that  if  the  negroes  were  hungry,  and  aware  that 
there  was  meat  around,  they  would  get  it.  Although 
sorry  for  anybody  who  might  be  suffering  from  hunger, 
he  had  no  notion  of  giving  a  fortnight's  desperate  hard 
work  in  order  to  feed  a  parcel  of  niggers  who  were  noth- 


HELP  AT  NEED  143 

ing  to  him.  There  were  plenty  of  hungry  people  in  the 
world.  It  was  not  his  business  to  look  after  them,  but 
to  look  out  for  the  interests  of  John  P.  Ridgway.  All 
of  which  was  very  sound  individualism,  no  doubt,  and 
perhaps  not  bad  philosophy. 

"  No,  there  is  no  carpenter  nearer  than  Teeumseh, 
which  is  seven  miles  away/'  replied  Nancy. 

"  Maybe  we  can  fix  it  up  ourselves  to  hold  out  until 
we  get  into  a  town.  We've  got  a  broken  pole,  you  know, 
and  the  wagon-  is  stuck  fast  till  it  is  mended." 

"  I've  a  few  pieces  of  timber;  if  you  can  mend  it 
with  them  you  are  welcome/7  said  Nancy. 

"  Ain't  you  got  no  men  folks  about  the  farm?  " 
asked  Eidgway,  full  of  curiosity. 

"No;  I  am  the  only  white  person  here/'  she  said 
with  a  sweep  of  her  hand,  indicating  the  negroes,  who 
had  formed  a  circle  a  little  outside  when  the  "  white 
gen'lemen  "  came  in  and  sat  down  by  the  fire.  These 
darkies  were  of  course  immensely  interested  at  the  ar 
rival  of  two  white  folks,  but  inborn  curiosity  could 
hardly  account  for  the  way  in  which  some  of  the  elder 
ones  stared  at  Heaton  and  made  signs  to  one  another 
as  they  stared. 

"  Lord!  how  do  you  work  the  farm?  They  don't  do 
work  worth  much,"  said  Ridgway,  much  amazed  at 
Nancy's  answer.  "  Didn't  you  raise  any  corn?  " 

"  I  have  only  just  bought  this  place.  In  fact,  I  have 
only  just  come,"  said  she,  with  some  hesitation  of  man 
ner.  "  They  were  my  slaves  in  Missouri,  and  I  brought 
them  into  Kansas  to  be  free." 

"  Phew!  "  whistled  Ridgway. 

"You  did  a  noble,  generous  act,"  burst  ou^  Hea 
ton.  "  It  is  splendid  to  hear  of  a  person  doing  such  a 
thing!  " 

Nancy  blushed  up  to  her  forehead,  and  the  firelight 
danced  on  her  face  glowing  with  the  sudden  rosy  hue. 


144  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

It  was  the  first  word  of  commendation  she  had  ever 
received  for  what  she  had  done,  and  her  blood  beat  with 
a  quicker  pulse  in  her  veins.  It  is  pleasant  to  be 
praised,  and  all  the  more  when  the  praise  comes  in  an 
unlooked-for  way. 

"Most  folks  thought  I  was  a  fool/'  she  said  with 
some  embarrassment. 

"People  are  so  absorbed  in  their  own  mean  lives 
they  can't  understand  a  grand  action  like  that/'  said 
Ileaton  with  enthusiasm. 

"  How'll  you  feed  'em  this  winter?  "  asked  Eidgway, 
and  his  question  was  like  a  cold  douche  upon  Nancy's 
glowing  pleasure  at  Heaton's  praise. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  stammered;  "  I'm  trying  to  sell 
some  horses  in  Tecumseh.  I  brought  six  horses  and 
three  wagons  out  of  Missouri.  They  ought  to  fetch  a 
good  price.  They  are  good  strong  horses." 

"How  much  do  you  want  for  them?"  inquired 
Eidgway,  with  an  eye  to  business. 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Nancy  simply.  "  I  told  the 
negro  to  get  as  much  corn  as  he  could  for  them  in  ex 
change.  We  must  have  something  to  eat,  even  if  the 
horses  have  to  be  sold  at  a  sacrifice." 

"When  did  you  send  him?"  next  inquired  Eidg 
way. 

"  Day  before  yesterday." 
"  And  he  ain't  back?  " 
"  No." 

"Then  he's  skedaddled  with  your  horses,  an'  you 
won't  see  him  again,  I  guess,"  said  Eidgway  in  a  tone 
of  conviction. 

"  Oh,  don't  say  that!  "  burst  out  Nancy  with  uncon 
trollable  anguish.  "We  are  left  without  horses,  or 
food,  or  anything  if  he  doesn't  come  back."  She  sobbed 
aloud. 

"  Don't  distress  yourself  so,"  said  Heaton  earnestly. 


HELP  AT  NEED  145 

"  I've  got  a  wagon  load  of  sound  meat  not  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  from  here,  and  you  shall  have  it  to-morrow,  half  an 
hour  after  sunrise." 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  break  down  like  that.  I  have  no 
right  to  bring  my  troubles  forward,"  said  Nancy  with 
her  chin  quivering  convulsively;  "  only  you  frightened 
me  by  saying  Sambo  wouldn't  come  back."  She  turned 
toward  Ridgway  and  smiled  a  tearful  smile. 

"  'Twill  be  all  right.  Don't  you  take  on,"  said  that 
energetic  young  man  cheerfully.  "  Guess  I'll  ride  in  to 
Tecumseh  first  thing  in  the  morning,  an'  sorter  look  up 
Sambo  an'  persuade  him  to  come  back  with  his  load  of 
corn.  Niggers  can  mostly  be  persuaded  with  a  cowhide 
whip  or  a  pistol  bullet,  if  obstinate." 

He  was  sorry  for  her  in  her  helplessness,  and  if  a 
little  work  on  his  part  could  make  her  comfortable  he 
would  give  it  ungrudgingly,  but  he  wasn't  such  a  "  natu 
ral-born  idiot  "  as  to  give  his  meat  for  nothing,  like  that 
"  darned  fool  "  Heaton. 

At  this  moment  the  door  of  the  inner  room  opened 
and  Susannah  with  the  yellow  dog  came  out.  The  dog 
went  up  to  the  strangers  to  smell  at  their  legs,  but  the 
moment  Susannah  caught  sight  of  them  in  the  flicker 
ing  light  she  gave  a  wild  screech,  and  fell  upon  her 
knees  in  a  paroxysm  of  weeping  and  praying. 

"  What  ails  the  woman?  "  said  Ridgway. 

"  She  is  not  right  in  her  mind  since  she  lost  her 
baby.  Don't  notice  her,"  said  Nancy.  And  then,  turn 
ing  to  the  old  negress,  she  said  somewhat  sharply: 
"  Aunt  Monin,  take  her  to  the  loft.— And  you  young 
darkies  go  too."  She  was  annoyed  to  think  that  these 
strange  men  should  see  all  the  defects  of  her  household 
at  the  first  moment. 

They  all  left  the  room  and  went  out  to  their  cabins 
to  sleep,  but  Susannah's  cries  could  be  heard  above  the 
storm  for  some  minutes. 


146  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

The  two  young  men  also  went  off  to  their  sleeping 
place  over  the  stable  among  the  cornshucks. 

"  Wai,  I'll  bust,  but  it's  the  maddest  house  I  ever 
saw,"  remarked  Ridgway,  as  he  lay  down  and  dragged 
around  him  a  thick  quilt  which  Aunt  Monin  had  sup 
plied. 

"  She's  the  finest  girl  ever  I  saw.  To  think  of  her 
freeing  her  slaves  like  that!  "  said  Heaton. 

"  And  bringing  them  here  in  the  dead  of  winter  to 
starve,"  grunted  Ridgway. 

"They  shaVt  starve,"  said  Heaton;  "I  swear 
that! " 


CHAPTER   XIII 


THE  sun  rose  bright  and  clear  over  the  storm-driven 
prairie.  The  wind  had  sported  with  the  snow  and  built 
it  into  a  thousand  curious  forms.  Frozen  ripples,  as  if 
a  sea  had  been  stayed  in  its  course,  flowed  over  broad 
flat  fields;  high  piled  ridges,  with  a  regular  cutting  arete 
on  the  sheltered  side,  had  ranged  themselves  on  the 
edges  of  the  hollows  into  immature  Alps;  while  deep 
drifts  of  finest  snow,  hard  frozen  into  a  compact  mass, 
filled  the  hollows  themselves.  Again,  the  wind  had  or 
dered  that  certain  places  should  be  bare,  and  these  were 
denuded  of  every  speck  of  snow  as  if  carefully  swept  by 
a  myriad  brooms.  The  fences,  fortified  by  long-drawn 
breastworks  thrown  up  by  the  snow,  presented  a  for 
midable  appearance,  with  the  stakes  and  riders  showing 
above  the  rest  of  the  rails  and  sticking  out  like  so  many 
black  rifles  from  amid  the  dazzling  white  defences. 
Snow,  even  if  helped  by  a  Dakota  gale,  is,  however, 
somewhat  at  a  disadvantage  on  the  open  prairie.  It  can 
not  build  as  freely  and  as  fantastically  as  when  it  gets 
into  a  land  of  bush  and  brake,  of  bluff  and  crag,  against 
which  to  pile  up  its  erections.  Still,  it  did  the  best  it 
could  under  the  circumstances,  and  failed  not  to  seize 
every  available  opportunity.  Thus  the  wagon  of  meat 
which  was  stuck  in  the  furrow  land  was  a  fine  piece  of 
good  luck.  So  the  wind-driven  snow  played  about  that 
wagon,  burying  first  one  wheel  and  then  another,  and 

147 


148  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

then  scooping  up  with  violent  gusts  all  the  snow  thus 
collected  and  depositing  it  on  the  lee  side.  This  seemed 
so  fine  a  notion  that  all  during  that  wild  night  the  snow 
went  on  piling  and  building  around  the  stalled  wagon, 
until  in  the  morning  a  vast,  shapeless  edifice  caught  the 
rays  of  the  rising  sun  and  threw  back  a  thousand  tinted 
sparkles  from  its  glittering  walls.  As  it  sported  with 
the  wagon,  so  it  dallied  with  the  house,  huts,  and  stalls 
of  Carthage,  building,  altering,  and  moulding  to  suit 
its  wayward  fancy,  until  that  little  hamlet  looked  like  a 
collection  of  enormous  white  ant-hills,  out  of  which 
stuck  black  chimneys,  with  here  and  there  a  forgotten 
peephole  of  a  window  which  the  snow  in  its  wild  hurry 
had  omitted  to  plaster  up. 

Into  this  new  and  fantastic  world  the  two  young 
hunters  looked  with  many  a  grunt  of  dissatisfaction 
when  next  morning  they  arose  out  of  their  bed  of  corn- 
shucks.  The  grotesque  aspect  of  the  house  door,  buried 
nearly  to  its  lintel  in  snow,  did  not  appeal  to  their  a3s- 
thetic  sense,  but  the  fact  that  the  door  had  to  be  dug 
out,  and  that  probably  by  themselves,  appealed  very 
strongly  to  their  physical  senses  by  suggesting  the 
amount  of  muscular  effort  that  was  now  required  of 
them.  Fortunately,  the  stable  door  faced  the  north 
west,  and  consequently  was  one  of  those  spots  which 
the  gale  had  concluded  to  sweep  clean.  So  the  two 
men  were  quickly  abroad  and  as  quickly  at  work. 
Pete  and  Moses  showed  them  where  the  shovels  were 
kept  and  then  stood  shiveringly  by  to  see  the  white 
men  work,  as  with  a  measured  scrape,  scrunch,  and 
swing  they  began  to  clear  a  path  to  the  blocked  door 
way. 

Nancy,  too,  heard  the  sound,  so  strong  and  so  steady, 
and  so  uninterrupted,  and  a  feeling  of  hope  and  trust 
fulness  filled  her  heart.  Here  were  white  men  on 
whom  she  could  rely.  They  were  not  like  those  poor 


RIDGWAY'S  DIPLOMACY  149 

helpless  negroes  who  never  had  any  advice  or  assistance 
to  offer,  but  only  leaned  upon  her,  depending  upon  her 
for  everything,  until  the  burden  had  become  almost  too 
great  for  her  to  bear. 

Heaton  fairly  shovelled  himself  into  the  kitchen, 
and  was  the  first  to  greet  Nancy  with  a  cheerful  "  Good 
morning."  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  seen  her  in 
clear  light,  so  that  he  could  really  get  a  good  look  at  her 
and  he  thought  he  had  never  seen  a  sweeter  face.  She 
was  not  the  rosy-cheeked,  saucy  girl  we  saw  in  the  sun 
light  of  that  October  day  not  long  passed.  She  was  now 
a  serious  pale  woman,  with,  nevertheless,  a  most  touch 
ing  look  of  girlishness  transfiguring  her  whole  aspect. 
Sorrow  and  anxiety  had  paled  her  once  plump  cheek, 
and  all  the  tears  she  had  shed  had  taken  some  of  the  fire 
out  of  her  eyes,  but  she  was  none  the  less  beautiful  for 
that.  The  defiant  sparkle  of  her  glance  was  indeed 
gone,  but  an  added  touch  of  seriousness  had  made  her 
face  more  attractive  than  ever.  Heaton  was  fascinated 
with  it. 

"  I've  come  to  say  I'm  going  for  the  meat  now,"  he 
remarked  brightly.  "  Now  then,  granny,  put  the  ket 
tle  on,  and  we'll  all  have  breakfast." 

Aunt  Monin  was  looking  at  him  intently,  as  if  ab 
sorbed  in  her  own  thoughts.  She  started  when  he  ad 
dressed  her,  and  said  quickly: 

"  Yes,  mas'r,  Fse  gwine  ter  cook  de  breakfast  dish 
hyar  bressed  minute,  I  is." 

"  That's  right.  I'll  go  now  for  the  meat  and  corn- 
meal." 

Heaton  left  the  kitchen,  and  Nancy  looked  after  him 
with  admiration,  so  full  was  he  of  life,  energy,  and  re 
source.  It  was  a  comfort  to  be  taken  care  of  by  this 
capable  man,  even  though  only  for  a  single  day,  and  he 
a  stranger.  Aunt  Monin  was  watching  Nancy  with 
curious  intentness  for  the  moment  or  two  that  they  were 


150  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

face  to  face,  and  when  the  young  man  had  left  the 
kitchen  she  said: 

"  Chile,  yo'  'member  how  Aunt  Monin  prophesy  de 
Lo'd  sen'  help  ter  yo'  outer  de  storm  an'  de  snow  an'  cle 
win'?  Yo'  see  he  done  it,  chile.  Now  Aunt  Moniii 
raise  up  her  voice  an'  speak  'gain.  Don't  yer  go  for  ter 
fly  in  de  face  o'  Prov'dence  an'  rejec'  de  min'strations  o' 
de  Lo'd.  Be  meek  an'  lowly,  an'  'member  de  ways  o'  de 
Lo'd  ain't  like  white  folks'  ways.  He  'venge  himself  in 
his  own  way  jess  when  de  due  time  is  'complished. 
'Member  dat,  honey-chile." 

Nancy  was  so  accustomed  to  Aunt  Monin's  holding 
forth  in  her  own  mystical  semibiblical  language  that 
she  frequently  gave  her  but  a  listless  attention.  She 
saw  no  reason  why  more  importance  than  usual  should 
be  attached  to  her  words  this  morning.  They  went  in 
at  one  ear  and  out  at  the  other,  and  were  clean  forgotten 
long  before  Heaton  got  back  through  the  snowdrifts 
with  his  load  of  food. 

Soon  there  arose  a  most  savoury  smell  of  juicy  meat 
frying  and  frizzling  over  the  fire,  mixed  with  the  aro 
matic  odour  of  coffee.  Aunt  Monin  was  in  her  glory 
again.  She  turned  the  meat  and  sprinkled  just  a  hint 
of  pepper  over  it,  she  set  the  coffee  to  drain,  and 
she  mixed  up  a  dozen  pones  and  popped  them  into  the 
clean  glowing  ashes  to  bake,  and  all  this  she  did  and 
yet  kept  the  circle  of  hungry  negroes  in  order  and  at 
work. 

"  Yo',  Pete,  pull  dat  smokin'  log  outer  de  fire.  Dat 
spile  my  bes'  pones  an'  make  'em  smoky,  so  de  white 
folks  can't  eat  'em.  White  folks  ain't  like  niggas,  as 
can  eat  ary  sort  o'  corn  bread.  Yo',  M'linder  da,  wha' 
fo'  yo'  starin'  at  de  white  gen'lemen  like  yo'  moon 
struck?  Set  de  table.  Git  de  bes'  white  linen  table- 
clof .  Spry  now,  else  I'll  whack  yer  brains  out  wid  dish 
hyar  log  o'  wood.  Lize  Jane,  reach  down  de  chiny 


RIDGWAY'S  DIPLOMACY  151 

cups.     White  gen'lemen  don't  drink  coffee  outer  tin 
mugs,  yo'  ignunt  black  nigga.     Whar  yo'  riz?  " 

And  so  on  and  so  forth,  with  an  eye  upon  every  one 
and  a  threat  for  most.  The  unemployed  negro  children 
were  made  to  sit  motionless,  so  as  not  to  "  'sturb  de 
white  folks/'  Eidgway  had  fed  the  horses  while  Aunt 
Monin  was  seeing  about  the  breakfast,  and  he  now 
joined  the  expectant  throng  in  the  kitchen,  stamping 
the  snow  off  his  big  boots  and  coming  into  the  room  like 
a  bit  of  a  northwester  himself. 

"Well,  that  do  sniff  good,  granny,"  he  observed, 
coming  up  to  the  fire.  "  Breakfast  time  'most  ready, 
eh?" 

"Yes,  mas'r,  I'se  done  cooked  ebbryt'ing,"  said 
Aunt  Monin,  glowing  with  pride  at  having  once  more 
good  victuals  upon  which  to  expend  her  culinary  skill. 

Nancy  and  her  two  guests  sat  down  to  the  table. 
The  negroes  eyed  them  longingly,  and  M'linder  evinced 
a  tendency  to  sit  down  too,  only  Aunt  Monin's  eagle  eye 
was  upon  her  in  an  instant. 

"  Yo'  m'lasses-f  ace  nigga,  whar  yo'  gwine  ?  "  she  ex 
claimed  with  wrath.  "  What  f  o'  yo'  don't  wait  on  de 
white  folks?  Yo'  done  clean  forgot  yer  manners. 
M'linder,  I  'shamed  o'  yo',  I  is!  " 

M'linder  slunk  away  abashed,  and  with  a  sweep  that 
would  have  done  credit  to  a  London  butler  Aunt  Monin 
handed  a  dish  of  smoking  steak  to  Nancy,  saying: 
"  Miss  Nancy,  will  yo'  have  some  o'  dish  hyar  steak,  or 
maybe  yo'  'fer  ter  wait  for  de  stew?  " 

Nancy  smiled,  and  the  white  folks  helped  them 
selves  abundantly. 

"Won't  you  give  some  to  those  hungry  little 
devils?  "  said  Heaton,  nodding  toward  the  silent  row  of 
little  niggers,  who  were  watching  every  mouthful. 
"  They  look  as  though  they  could  eat  us  with  their 
eyes." 


152  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

"  Yo'  niggas,"  exclaimed  the  ever-vigilant  Aunt 
Monin,  "  what  fo'  yo'  gap  in'  like  dat?  Turn  roun'  eb- 
bery  last  one  o'  yo',  an'  face  de  wall.  Don't  yo'  go  fer 
ter  look  roun'  now,  else  I'll  slit  yer  tongues  out  an'  fry 
'em  'thout  a  grain  o'  salt." 

This  complicated  threat  overawed  the  little  darkies, 
who  turned  their  backs  upon  the  too  tempting  scene, 
and  were  perforce  content  to  imbibe  delight  by  means 
only  of  their  sense  of  smell.  When  they  were  not  look 
ing  Aunt  Monin  dug  out  of  the  hot  ashes  her  heap  of 
pones  and  hoecakes,  skilfully  blew  off  the  flakes  of 
white  ash,  and  piled  them  upon  a  wooden  trencher. 
She  next  poured  the  stewed  meat  into  a  great  tin  basin 
and  gave  it  to  M'linder.  Lize  Jane  took  the  smoking 
bread. 

"  Now  pike,"  said  Aunt  Monin  with  a  magisterial 
wave  of  her  long  arm.  "  Don't  yo'  show  yer  black 
faces  hyar  'gain  dish  mo'nin'." 

The  little  darkies  fled  out  after  the  two  women  and 
the  smoking  food  to  devour  it  in  their  own  cabin  beside 
the  house.  Aunt  Monin  sat  down  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  Dem  black  niggas  ain't  fit  fer  white  folks  ter  sit 
wid,"  she  observed  scornfully,  apparently  quite  oblivi 
ous  of  the  fact  that  her  own  face  was  as  black  as  black 
could  be. 

"  Come  along,  granny,  and  eat  something  yourself 
now.  You've  earned  it,  anyhow,"  said  Ridgway,  mo 
tioning  her  to  a  chair  near  Nancy's. 

Aunt  Monin  drew  herself  up  with  offended  dignity. 

"  I  ain't  like  dey  ignunt  niggas  out  dar.  I'se  bin 
allers  in  good  famblies  outer  ole  Virginny.  I  don't  neb- 
ber  sit  down  'long  o'  white  gen'lemen  an'  Miss  Nancy. 
I  allers  wait  on  Miss  Nancy,  mas'r." 

"  And  you  couldn't  do  a.  wiser  and  better  thing," 
said  Heaton,  seeing  his  young  hostess  look  a  little  em 
barrassed. 


RIDGWAY'S  DIPLOMACY  153 

Much  to  Ridgway's  disgust  he  found  upon  examina 
tion  that  the  drifts  were  absolutely  impassable  between 
Carthage  and  the  creek,  so  that  he  was  obliged  to  run 
the  risk  of  letting  his  wagon  stand  out  another  day  all 
by  itself  on  the  road  up  from  the  bottom  land.  Com 
forting  himself  with  the  reflection  that  probably  no  one 
would  be  abroad  on  that  road,  he  and  Heaton  devoted 
their  horses  and  their  energies  to  bringing  up  to  the 
house  the  wagon  which  they  had  abandoned  the  night 
before.  This  was  a  job  of  some  difficulty,  as  several 
drifts  had  to  be  cut  through,  and  those  young  imps  of 
darkness  Pete  and  Moses  had  to  work  in  a  way  they 
never  dreamed  of  before.  When  the  wagon  was  at 
length  brought  alongside  of  the  house  they  were  not 
even  then  permitted  to  rest,  but  were  set  to  chopping 
wood  by  their  relentless  taskmasters,  who  sawed  and 
split  wood  with  ceaseless  energy  and  diligence  them 
selves.  Night  brought  them  repose  at  last,  and  the 
weary  Pete,  lying  down  in  his  cornshucks  beside  the 
exhausted  Moses,  remarked,  as  he  pulled  his  warm  quilt 
up  level  with  his  eyes: 

"  Dey  white  folks  when  dey  got  free  niggas  dey 
work  'em  powerful  heavy.  Golly,  I  nebber  seed  ole 
mas'r  drive  de  niggas  so  hard  as  dish  hyar  free  mas'r 
done!  " 

"  Hope  he'll  break  his  ole  neck  tryin'  fo'  ter  bu'st  de 
wagon  fru  de  snowdrif,"  said  Moses,  aching  in  every 
limb  and  revengefully  inclined. 

The  next  morning,  before  the  break  of  day,  to  the 
disgusted  surprise  of  the  lazy  negroes,  those  two  inde 
fatigable  white  men  were  up  feeding  and  cleaning  their 
horses,  and  were  actually  whistling  at  their  work,  too. 
Pete  and  Moses  rolled  reluctantly  out  from  their  corn- 
shucks,  for  Ridgway  came  and  stirred  them  firmly  with 
the  toe  of  his  heavy  jack  boot. 

"  Now  then,  you  darkies,  just  scuttle  round.     It's 


154  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

'most  daylight  now,  an  we've  a  heap  to  do  before  sun 
down  this  day,  you  bet." 

They  yawned,  they  groaned,  they  shivered  in  dis 
gust,  but  they  had  to  turn  out,  nevertheless,  before  the 
orders  of  that  inexorable  white  man.  Hit  or  miss, 
Eidgway  determined  to  bring  his  wagon  into  safety  be 
fore  night  fell.  So  after  a  hurried  breakfast  they  set 
off  with  all  four  horses  and  such  tools  and  implements 
as  they  thought  necessary  in  order  to  cut  the  wagon 
out  and  mend  the  pole.  Moses  and  Pete  shovelled  out 
drifts  and  laboured  fiercely  under  the  eye  of  Ridgway, 
while  Heaton,  who  was  very  handy  with  tools,  fixed  up 
the  pole  and  fastened  trace  chains  to  the  body  of  the 
wagon  so  that  the  pull  of  the  leading  horses  might  be 
brought  to  bear.  It  was  late  at  night  before  the  creak 
ing  vehicle  came  groaning  and  labouring  up  to  the 
house,  and  Moses  and  Pete  declared  many  times  that 
they  would  "  a  heap  sight  sooner  be  slaves  down  in  ole 
Missouri  than  free  niggas  in  Kansas." 

It  was  with  feelings  of  keen  delight  that  the  young 
men  looked  forward  to  spending  the  evening  with 
Nancy  after  the  hard  day's  work  in  the  snowdrifts. 
The  thought  of  the  cheerful  kitchen  with  its  bright  fire 
blazing  on  the  hearth  was  not  more  alluring  to  them 
than  was  the  picture  of  the  pretty  young  girl  who  would 
be  there  to  receive  and  welcome  them.  Women  did  not 
abound  on  the  prairies  in  the  old  days.  Many  cabins 
were  tenanted  only  by  men,  and  personal  discomfort, 
always  abundant  in  a  settler's  home,  simply  raged  un 
checked  in  the  masculine  abode.  It  is  a  singular  fact 
that,  whereas  men  are  very  fond  of  their  comfort  and 
are  determined  to  obtain  it  at  all  hazards  and  regardless 
of  expense  in  civilization — witness  the  surpassing  com 
forts  of  the  London  Club — when  it  falls  upon  them  to 
work  out  their  own  notions  of  comfort  with  their  own 
hands  they  usually  evince  a  most  helpless  inefficiency. 


RIDGWAY'S  DIPLOMACY  155 

They  do  without  things  and  put  up  with  defects  that 
under  other  circumstances  would  provoke  a  storm  of 
protest.  Again,  men  are  strangely  devoid  of  a  sense 
of  proportion  in  matters  of  housekeeping,  and  show  a 
quaint  disinclination  to  doing  the  smallest  and  lightest 
housework,  even  if  it  is  for  their  own  immediate  and 
personal  convenience.  Thus,  I  have  known  a  man  grow 
peas  in  his  garden — digging  the  ground,  making  the 
drills,  sowing  the  seed,  earthing  up  the  young  plants, 
staking  them  when  older,  down  to  picking  and  shelling 
the  pods,  all  with  due  labour  and  care — and  yet  finally 
fail  ignominiously  in  providing  himself  with  a  whole 
some  dish,  simply  because  he  would  not  take  the  trouble 
to  boil  the  peas,  but  preferred  to  eat  them  raw  instead. 

Now  Heaton  had  been  doing  his  own  housework 
entirely  since  he  came  to  Kansas;  that  is  to  say,  he  had 
made  his  own  corn  bread — very  badly  oftentimes — and 
had  boiled  his  own  bacon  and  beans — far  too  little  to 
be  tasty — for  a  good  many  months  now,  and  Kldgway, 
though  a  much  better  and  more  painstaking  cook,  had 
got  thoroughly  sick  of  his  own  cuisine.  What  an  amaz 
ing  piece  of  good  luck  it  was  to  find  themselves  sur 
rounded  by  a  womanly  household,  the  kitchen  tidy  and 
warm,  the  supper  ready  and  cooked,  when  they  got 
in  at  night!  This  was  simple  bliss  to  men  who  had 
been  used  to  finding  their  house  cold  and  dark  when 
they  came  home,  and  upon  whose  tired  minds  and 
bodies  the  thought  of  the  preparation  of  supper  fell  like 
an  additional  load  when  they  remembered  that  it  meant 
first  getting  the  wood  and  then  lighting  the  fire  before 
they  could  even  think  of  mixing  the  meal  and  water  for 
their  corn  bread.  And  then  there  was  Nancy.  Could 
mortals  want  more  in  the  way  of  enjoyment  as  they  sat 
round  the  fire,  stretching  their  limbs  before  the  welcome 
blaze,  than  to  hear  her  silver  laughter  and  to  watch  her 
bright  face  changing  with  every  moment  as  thoughts 
11 


156  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

and  pleasant  fancies  flitted  across  her  mind  in  obedience 
to  the  images  called  up  by  the  genial  chatter.  If  they 
had  one  wish  unfulfilled  it  was  only  until  Nancy  assured 
them  that  she  did  not  mind  their  smoking,  and,  in  fact, 
expected  them  to  light  their  pipes,  whereupon  Aunt 
Monin  poked  a  lot  of  clear  burning  embers  from  under 
the  logs  and  told  them  to  "  set  fire." 

To  those  accustomed  to  the  more  cumbrous  and  dila 
tory  methods  of  civilization  it  may  seem  strange  that 
Nancy  should  have  become  so  friendly  with  two  utter 
strangers  in  so  short  a  space  of  time.  Life  on  the 
prairie  is  freed  from  the  trammels  and  trappings  of 
convention.  The  people  are  simple,  their  ways  are 
primitive,  and  they  quickly  form  ties  of  friendship,  not 
waiting  until  a  thousand  and  one  formalities  have  been 
completed,  as  is  the  case  in  the  more  complex  relations 
of  older  communities. 

If  the  young  men  looked  forward  with  delight  to 
spending  the  evening  with  Nancy,  she  on  her  side  ex 
perienced  a  feeling  of  pleasurable  excitement  in  expect 
ing  them.  The  day  now  held  something  new  for  her, 
and  she  brightened  up  both  physically  and  mentally. 
Nancy  had  lived  too  much  alone,  cut  off  from  the  stimu 
lus  of  outside  opinion.  Public  opinion  did  not  exist 
among  the  slaves,  at  least  not  in  a  way  to  make  itself 
felt.  She  lacked  this  most  needful  stimulus,  without 
which  no  human  being  can  put  forth  his  best  exertions. 
She  had  lived  entirely  alone  since  her  father's  death, 
and  was  drawing  upon  the  ever  lessening  reserve  of  her 
own  innate  energy,  and  she  had  already  become  con 
scious  of  what  an  exhausting  process  this  was.  These 
young  men  from  the  outside  world  brought  a  fresh  train 
of  thoughts  into  her  mind  and  created  new  motives  of 
action.  Vanity,  I  trust,  will  not  be  laid  to  Nancy's 
charge  when  it  is  found  that  one  of  the  first  outward 
and  manifest  signs  of  this  reawakening  interest  in  life 


RIDGWAY'S  DIPLOMACY  157 

was  a  desire  to  improve  her  personal  appearance.  She 
put  on  a  fresh  frock  for  the  evening  and  twisted  her 
abundant  black  hair  into  a  most  becoming  knot  at  the 
back  of  her  shapely  head,  and  twice  put  on  and  twice 
took  off  a  tiny  coral  spray  before  she  could  make  up  her 
mind  on  which  side  of  her  hair  it  looked  best. 

All  this  while  Sambo  had  not  appeared,  nor  of  course 
had  the  load  of  corn  so  ardently  expected  from  Tecum- 
seh.  On  the  third  morning  the  snow  began  to  show 
signs  of  giving  way  before  the  combined  effect  of  an 
abundance  of  sunshine  and  an  absence  of  wind.  Bidg- 
way  thought  he  might  be  able  to  push  through  to  Te- 
cumseh,  as  the  roads  would  in  all  probability  be  some 
what  more  open  near  the  town.  Accordingly,  after  hav 
ing  consulted  with  Heaton  and  carefully  examined  his 
firearms,  he  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  off.  He  carried 
his  companion's  breech-loading  carbine  slung  over  his 
shoulder.  When  Nancy  inquired  the  object  of  all  these 
warlike  preparations,  he  replied  that  he  had  lived  in 
Kansas  a  good  spell  now,  and  he  had  always  found  a 
first-class  revolver  mortal  handy  in  any  argument  he 
might  have  if  folks  was  downright  obstinate. 

Nancy  looked  scared  and  said:  "  Oh  please,  I'd  rather 
never  get  the  horses  or  the  corn  or  anything,  if  it  means 
some  one  is  to  be  killed." 

"  Bless  you,  I  ain't  goin'  to  kill  anybody,"  replied 
Ridgway  confidently.  "I'm  only  taking  these  tools 
along  so  as  to  make  folks  kinder  reasonable."  He  rode 
off  with  a  pleasant  smile  and  nod,  leaving  Nancy  with 
her  heart  full  of  dread  and  anxiety. 

"Do  you  think  he  is  a  man  of  peace?"  she  asked 
of  Heaton,  who  was  sawing  up  wood. 

"Well,  I  can't  say  that  it  is  against  his  principles 
to  use  firearms.  He  isn't  a  nonresistant,  you  know,  but 
he  isn't  one  bit  quarrelsome.  I  can  answer  for  that;  I 
know  him  well,"  replied  the  young  man  reassuringly. 


158  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

"  There  is  nothing  so  dreadful  as  for  people  to  rush 
into  desperate  measures,  even  to  redress  a  wrong,"  said 
Nancy  with  an  expression  of  pain  on  her  face. 

"  That's  very  true,"  said  Heaton  earnestly. 

"  Don't  you  think  Kansas  men  are  very  quick  to  re 
sort  to  desperate  methods?"  asked  Nancy,  balancing 
herself  on  a  log  of  wood  so  as  to  keep  out  of  the  slushy 
snow.  He  was  at  work  on  the  sheltered  side  of  the 
house,  where  the  sun  was  already  making  successful  in 
roads  on  the  snow. 

"  Sometimes  they  find  themselves  in  desperate 
straits,"  replied  Heaton,  who  found  this  a  painful  sub 
ject.  "  People's  motives  can't  always  be  safely  judged 
by  their  actions  in  cases  of  emergency." 

"  1  suppose  so.  I  used  to  feel  differently  about  it. 
But  I  have  changed,"  said  Nancy  thoughtfully. 

"  And  so  have  I,"  assented  Heaton  with  considerable 
warmth  of  feeling.  "  I  don't  feel  at  all  about  this 
border  war  as  I  did  when  I  first  came  out." 

"  Oh,  it  is  dreadful,  dreadful!  "  said  Nancy  with  a 
shudder.  "  You  don't  know  what  it  is  like  with  those 
terrible  raids  into  Missouri.  I  have  known  such  awful 
deeds  done." 

"  So  have  I,"  said  Heaton,  "  on  both  sides  of  the 
border.  War  is  a  grim  pastime.  Miss  Nancy,  and  equally 
hideous  whichever  side  you  look  at  it." 

Nancy  looked  doubtfully  at  him  for  a  moment  in 
silence. 

"How  do  you  think  it  will  end?"  she  asked. 

"  Heaven  only  knows.  Nations  must  atone  for  their 
sins  even  as  individuals  do." 

"  If  we  only  can  be  spared  from  war  and  the  shed 
ding  of  blood.  That  seems  to  me  too  terrible  even  to 
contemplate." 

"It  could  be  done  if  there  were  many  like  you  in 
the  South — a  slave  owner  bringing  her  slaves  into  free- 


RIDGWAY'S  DIPLOMACY  159 

dom  of  her  own  free  will  and  generosity,"  said  the 
young  man,  looking  at  her,  his  eyes  bright  with  admi 
ration. 

u  Hush,"  said  Nancy  hurriedly,  "  don't  speak  of  it 
like  that;  it  was  an  atonement." 

An  atonement!  Heaton  wondered  for  what.  But 
he  dared  not  question  her  further — it  was  manifestly  a 
painful  subject — so  he  took  up  his  saw  again,  and  Nancy 
went  back  into  the  house. 

Meanwhile  Kidgway  was  "  bu'stin'  fru  de  drif  s,"  as 
Pete  expressed  it,  a  slow  and  exhausting  operation  that 
fatigued  both  man  and  horse.  It  was  the  middle  of 
the  afternoon  before  he  at  last  rode  into  Tecumseh,  and 
after  some  little  time,  acting  upon  Nancy's  instructions, 
he  proceeded  to  Woodhouse's  store,  where  she  expected 
he  would  get  news  of  her  man  Sambo  and  learn  the  re 
sult  of  his  mission.  So  far  he  had  followed  Nancy's 
orders,  but  from  the  moment  he  got  into  the  store  he 
pursued  a  line  of  action  of  his  own  devising,  very  far 
removed  from  the  gentle  expressions  of  anxiety  with 
which  she,  poor  girl,  had  charged  him. 

There  were  several  men  lounging  in  the  store  when 
Eidgway  slouched  in,  pistol,  carbine,  and  all,  his  hat  well 
on  one  side,  and  a  huge  cigar  in  his  mouth. 

"  Guess  you'll  be  ole  man  Woodhouse,"  he  observed, 
with  a  total  absence  of  his  usual  modes  of  expression 
and  putting  on  a  most  formidable  drawl. 

"  Yes,  stranger,  that's  my  name,"  answered  the 
storekeeper  with  the  professional  alacrity  of  his  tribe. 

Eidgway  made  no  reply,  but  sat  down  on  a  barrel  of 
sugar  and  smoked  away  in  complete  silence.  The  men 
eyed  him  with  considerable  interest  and  evident  curi 
osity.  After  a  length  of  time  he  said,  apparently  ad 
dressing  a  coil  of  rope  that  hung  from  the  rafters: 

"Why  hain't  you  bought  Nancy  Overton's  horses? 
What's  the  matter  with  them?  Ain't  they  sound?" 


160  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

"  I  ain't  agoin'  to  say  as  ther's  ary  thing  the  matter 
with  them/'  replied  Woodhouse  in  a  nettled  manner. 

•'  Then  you  have  bought  'em/'  said  Kidgway  quickly, 
withdrawing  his  eyes  from  the  coil  of  rope  and  suddenly 
facing  the  storekeeper  with  a  steady  stare. 

"  No,  I  haven't/'  said  Woodhouse  angrily,  thinking 
that  the  young  man  was  in  some  way  trying  to  trap  him 
into  committing  himself  too  soon. 

"  Glad  to  hear  you  say  so,"  drawled  Eidgway.  "  I 
have." 

Woodhouse  actually  gasped  with  surprise. 

"  This  ain't  fair,  stranger,"  he  spluttered.  "  Them 
horses  is  in  my  stable,  an'  I'm  agoin'  to  keep  'em." 

Eidgway  sprang  to  his  feet  and  slung  the  carbine 
off  his  shoulder  in  a  twinkling. 

"  You're  going  to  keep  'em,  by  thunder,  after  I  tell 
you  I've  bought  'em!  I'd  like  to  see  you  do  it.  I  come 
here  straight  and  all  on  the  square  and  ask  you  if  you've 
bought  them  horses,  and  you  tell  me  here  before  these 
witnesses  you  hain't  bought  'em.  Then  I  tell  you  I 
have,  and  you  say  you'll  keep  'em  anyhow.  I  ain't  a 
smooth  man  to  argue  with,  leastways  'bout  horses  which 
I've  been  an'  bought.  No,  by  gosh,  I  ain't  smooth.  My 
name's  John  P.  Eidgway,  of  Lawrence,  and  most  folks 
know  that  name  all  the  way  from  Kansas  City  to  the 
Pottawatomi  reservation." 

The  stir  that  the  announcement  of  his  name  had 
created  bore  evidence  to  the  truth  of  the  boast.  Most 
people  did  know  the  name  as  belonging  to  a  young  man 
who  had  won  for  himself  a  reputation  for  cool  bravery 
and  daring  where  such  reputations  were  not  to  be  earned 
without  deeds  to  match. 

Woodhouse  backed  down  visibly.  "  I  ain't  agoin'  to 
spile  your  bargain,"  he  said  with  a  feeble  smile. 

"  Knew  you  wouldn't,  stranger,"  said  Eidgway  affa 
bly,  "  jest  as  soon  as  you  learned  you  had  a  regular 


RIDGWAY'S  DIPLOMACY  161 

downright  Kansas  man  to  deal  with.  Guess  I'll  go 
'long  and  have  a  look  at  that  team  now.  Got  ary  lan 
tern  to  lend  me?" 

Woodhouse  was  only  too  anxious  to  be  rid  of  his 
formidable  guest,  so  he  offered  to  come  himself  and  show 
him  where  the  horses  were  stabled.  So  the  pair  went  off 
together  in  much  outward  show  of  amity,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  Eidgway  emerged  from  Woodhouse's  stable 
leading  the  two  teams  of  horses  himself,  for,  as  he  re 
marked,  it  would  be  sorter  unhandy  for  him  not  to  have 
them  along  with  his  own  nag  where  he  was  stopping. 
He  chuckled  to  himself  several  times  as  he  strode 
through  the  snowy  road  of  Tecumseh,  remarking,  "  he 
was  'most  skeered  out  of  his  skin,  the  darned  white- 
livered  prairie  dog." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE    HIRED    MAN 

RIDGWAY  returned  triumphant  next  day  with  the 
wagon,  a  load  of  corn,  and  the  two  teams  of  horses  be 
sides.  He  had  bought  the  load  of  corn,  he  and  Heaton 
jointly  raising  the  money,  which  they  were  able  to  do 
on  the  security  of  their  buffalo  hides.  Both  Ridgway 
and  Heaton  were  known  in  Tecumseh  to  be  honest  men, 
and  their  credit  consequently  was  good.  Sambo  of 
course  returned  also,  for  he  had  at  once  appeared  on  the 
surface  the  moment  that  Ridgway  had  got  hold  of  the 
horses.  He  was  in  deep  tribulation,  and  expressed  much 
concern  for  Miss  Nancy,  left  without  any  food  by  reason 
of  the  dawdling  of  the  storekeeper,  who  would  neither 
say  "  yes  "  nor  "  no  "  about  the  horses,  nor  give  him 
a  load  of  corn,  nor  allow  him  to  take  the  animals  else 
where.  Poor  Sambo  was  at  his  wits'  end  to  know  what 
to  do. 

When  Nancy  saw  both  the  load  of  corn  and  her  two 
pairs  of  horses  her  heart  thumped  with  terror.  She  fled 
out  hurriedly  to  the  bars,  and  with  white  face  ran  up 
to  Ridgway. 

"  How  is  it  you've  got  them  both?  "  she  asked  anx 
iously. 

"It's  all  right,"  replied  the  young  man  genially. 
"  He  didn't  want  the  horses  and  we've  bought  the  corn. 
My  mate  and  me'll  want  some  of  it,  and  you  can  take 
the  rest." 

162 


THE  HIRED  MAN  163 

"  Did  you  kill  him?  "  said  Nancy,  her  lips  twitching 
so  that  she  was  hardly  able  to  articulate. 

"Lord,  no!  "What  do  you  take  us  for?  Tigers? 
Kansas  men  ain't  always  sighting  down  on  a  man  and 
killing  him." 

Eidgway  spoke  with  a  certain  abruptness  of  manner, 
showing  that  he  was  somewhat  offended  at  the  extremely 
low  opinion  his  hostess  held  of  Kansas  men. 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  glad!  "  exclaimed  Nancy  with  a  sigh  of 
relief.  "I  couldn't  guess  how  you  had  managed,  and 
you  know  you  did  take  your  gun  and  pistol,"  she  added 
apologetically,  as  if  there  was  some  excuse  for  her  femi 
nine  alarms. 

"  I  always  take  my  arms  along,"  replied  the  young 
man,  "  'cause  I've  found  them  often  useful  in  making 
people  civil  and  quick  to  understand  my  arguments — 
sorter  brightens  up  their  intellects  a  bit.  But  I  hain't 
never  shot  a  man  without  he  drove  me  to  it  first." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  she  replied,  clasping  her  hands 
nervously  together;  "  but  it  comes  to  that  so  quick  some 
times." 

"Well,  you  needn't  take  on  this  time  anyhow;  I 
hain't  fired  a  shot  since  I  rode  off  yesterday." 

The  two  young  buffalo  hunters  stayed  nearly  a  week 
at  Carthage,  at  the  end  of  which  time  the  roads  were 
open  enough  for  traffic  to  begin  once  more,  the  pole  was 
mended,  and  Ridgway  began  to  get  restless. 

"  I  guess  we'd  better  be  starting  pretty  quick  now,  or 
else  that  buffalo  meat  of  ours'll  go  to  fatten  these  here 
niggers,"  he  remarked  to  Heaton,  after  they  had  fod 
dered  their  horses  one  night  and  were  standing  at  the 
stable  door.  "  There's  bound  to  be  a  spell  of  wet 
weather  soon  now,  and  this  snow'll  melt,  and  then  the 
creeks  'ull  be  over  their  banks,  and  we  won't  get  a  pound 
of  our  meat  into  Lawrence.  I  say,  let's  start  before 
sunup  to-morrow." 


164  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

"  Well/'  remarked  Heaton  with  a  certain  hesitation 
of  manner,  "  I  was  not  thinking  of  starting  just  yet." 

"  I  tell  you  that  meat  won't  stand  a  thaw.  It'll  go 
bad  before  we  can  unload,  if  we  don't  mind." 

"  I  guess  I'll  unload  here,"  said  Heaton. 

Eidgway  whistled. 

"  Has  she  bought  your  load?  What  did  she  give  you 
for  it?" 

"  No,  she  didn't  buy  the  load.  I  gave  it  to  her,  and 
I've  promised  to  stay  and  see  her  crop  in,  as  hired  man." 

"  Jerusalem!  "  was  all  Eidgway  said,  and  then  he 
laughed  out  loud,  and  Heaton  felt  inclined  to  be  angry 
with  him. 

It  was  quite  true,  however.  Heaton  had  decided 
to  remain  and  work  the  farm  for  Nancy,  to  be  paid 
eventually  by  having  half  the  proceeds  of  the  crops.  She 
was  too  ignorant  of  the  details  of  farming  to  realize  in 
its  entirety  what  a  good  bargain  she  had  made,  but  a 
load  of  anxiety  was  thereby  lifted  from  her  shoulders, 
and  she  experienced  a  corresponding  sense  of  relief.  She 
and  Heaton  had  settled  this  little  matter  on  the  day 
when  Eidgway  had  gone  off  to  the  blacksmith's  to  get 
the  irons  put  on  his  new  wagon  pole.  They  had  looked 
over  the  farm  land  together,  and  the  young  man  had 
rapidly  explained  to  her  what  he  considered  would  be 
the  best  course  for  her  to  adopt  with  regard  to  the  en 
suing  year.  In  the  first  place  she  should  fence  in  a 
bit  of  her  pasture  land  in  order  to  keep  one  horse  always 
within  reach,  so  as  to  be  able  to  catch  the  others  with 
the  least  possible  loss  of  time;  half  a  day's  precious  work 
ing  hours  were  often  lost  by  men  who  had  to  hunt  their 
horses  on  foot.  Nancy  listened  with  deep  interest  to 
all  he  had  to  tell  her,  and  then  she  confided  in  him  how 
she  feared  the  negroes  could  never  be  made  to  work 
hard  without  being  driven  to  it,  and  how  she  would 
not  resort  to  severe  measures  with  them,  because  she 


THE  HIRED  MAN  165 

could  not  help  feeling  that  she  owed  them  reparation 
and  must  always  treat  them  tenderly.  Then  he  again 
expressed  his  admiration  for  what  she  had  done,  saying 
it  was  an  act  of  atonement  for  the  wrongdoing  of  others 
that  could  not  fail  to  turn  into  a  great  success.  He  was 
cordial,  he  was  enthusiastic,  and  finally  he  ended  by 
offering  to  stay  for  half  a  year  and  see  her  through  the 
worst  part  of  the  season,  so  that  her  grand  experiment 
might  have  a  fair  start.  The  proposition  was  very  sud 
den,  and  Nancy  did  not  reply  for  a  few  moments  while 
she  was  thinking  it  over.  Heaton's  heart  stood  still  with 
apprehension  for  fear  she  might  say  "  no,"  but  she  did 
not.  She  said  "  yes,"  and  then  Heaton  thanked  her 
warmly  for  permitting  him  to  become  in  a  measure  asso 
ciated  with  her  act  of  generosity  for  the  benefit  of  the 
negroes,  adding  that  he  had  come  to  Kansas  burning 
with  a  desire  to  do  something  for  them,  and  to  help  to 
right  the  wrong,  but  as  yet  he  had  not  seen  his  way  to 
doing  any  good. 

So  Heaton  remained  as  "  hired  man "  to  Nancy 
Overton,  and  Eidgway  drove  off  alone  with  his  wagon 
load  of  buffalo  meat.  When  he  reached  the  corner  of 
the  farm  he  stopped  and  looked  about  him  very  care 
fully,  and  then  with  a  chuckle  he  remarked: 

"  One  hundred  and  sixty  acres  of  good  upland 
prairie,  a  sound  frame  house,  a  log  stable,  three  nigger 
cabins,  two  wagons  and  four  horses,  and  a  pretty  wife 
ain't  a  bad  price  to  get  for  one  load  of  buffalo  meat. 
Charlie  Heaton  ain't  the  blamed  coon  I  thought  he  was. 
Wonder  if  I'll  get  half  as  good  a  price  for  my  load?  " 

Life  at  Carthage  was  a  very  different  thing  after 
Heaton  became  the  "  hired  man  "  from  what  it  had  been 
before.  Energy  and  hopefulness  seemed  to  infuse  and 
inspire  everybody  and  everything.  As  the  ground  was 
still  covered  with  snow  it  was  impossible  to  do  any  farm 
work,  and  the  negroes  naturally  expected  that  they 


166  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

would  be  allowed  to  huddle  over  the  fire  in  an  attitude 
of  expectancy  for  the  summer  sunshine.  The  idea  of 
setting  out  to  work  in  the  snow  seemed  to  them  pre 
posterous.  Heaton  was  born  in  the  mountains  of  north 
ern  Vermont,  where  the  snow  lasts  at  least  five  months 
in  the  year;  therefore  he  took  it  as  a  matter  of  course. 
His  mind  and  body  were  both  braced  to  it  by  hereditary 
sturdiness  and  constant  exposure. 

"  We'll  be  able  to  split  enough  rails  for  the  pasture 
fence,  if  this  snow  lasts/'  he  remarked  to  Nancy  as  they 
were  sitting  together  at  supper.  "  I'll  take  Sambo  and 
we'll  begin  to-morrow." 

Nancy  owned  an  acre  of  bottom  land  well  grown 
with  trees,  and  these  Heaton  decided  to  cut  down  and 
split  into  rails.  Splitting  rails  is  almost  the  hardest 
work  that  ever  falls  to  a  farmer  to  do.  Horses  can  not 
help.  The  entire  work  has  to  be  performed  by  man, 
from  the  laborious  cutting  down  of  the  tree  to  the  driv 
ing  in  of  the  wedges  into  the  sawn  lengths,  until  with 
a  crack  the  log  bursts  throughout,  generally  with  a 
jagged  end  that  has  to  be  chopped  clean.  Sambo  and 
Heaton  split  rails  all  day,  not  even  coming  back  for 
dinner,  as  that  would  have  caused  a  loss  of  some  of  the 
precious  hours  of  daylight,  but  sitting  down  on  a  log 
and  eating  their  bread  and  meat  as  quickly  as  they 
could. 

Experiences  like  this  make  even  negroes  thoughtful. 
Sambo  came  home  heavy-hearted  and  tired  in  every 
limb.  Pete  and  Moses  were  full  of  sympathy  and  anx 
ious  inquiry. 

"Mas'r  Heaton  dribe  yo'  mighty  ha'd  Sambo?  Yo' 
don't  nebber  cotch  time  f  o'  ter  res'  ?  " 

"  Nary  minute;  jes'  kep'  lammin'  Vay  at  dem  logs 
like  he  made  o'  brass  an'  cowhide.  An'  we  uns  gotter 
go  outer  'gain  in  de  mo'nin',  'fore  de  break  o'  day," 
added  Sambo  in  a  deeply  melancholy  voice. 


THE  HIRED  MAN  167 

"  What  yer  gwine  ter  do,  Sambo?  " 

"  I'se  gwine  ter  run  'way  'gain,  an'  be  slave  down  in 
ole  Missouri.  I  ain't  gwine  ter  stan'  bein'  free  no  mo'/' 
said  Sambo  with  desperate  firmness. 

"  Mebbe  yo'll  be  sole  South  if  yo'  go  inter  Missouri/' 
suggested  Pete. 

"  Den  I  wo'k  'longside  de  udder  niggas.  Yo'  can't 
nebber  be  druv  so  all-fired  hard  when  dar's  a  heap  o' 
niggas  in  de  field  an'  on'y  one  overseer  to  'em.  He 
hain't  got  eyes  all  roun'  his  head,  I  reckon.  When  yo' 
is  workin'  'longside  o'  one  white  man,  an'  he's  workin' 
too,  dat's  when  yer  back's  reg'lar  broke,"  said  Sambo, 
speaking  from  bitter  experience. 

Now  just  as  these  three  darkies  were  thus  unfold 
ing  their  grievances  to  each  other  the  door  opened  and 
Heaton  came  in  with  a  tin  pail  in  his  hand. 

"  See  here,  Sambo,  here's  your  supper  of  stewed 
meat,"  said  he,  setting  down  the  steaming  pail  and  tak 
ing  off  the  cover.  "  You  must  eat  a  good  supper  or  else 
you'll  not  be  able  to  work.  Starved  horses  don't  pull." 

He  left  the  pail  at  the  elbow  of  the  astonished  darky, 
who  never  before  had  known  a  white  man  come  to  a 
nigger's  cabin  in  order  to  make  sure  that  he  was  well 
fed.  As  he  ate  the  savoury  and  sustaining  food  he  felt 
mollified  toward  freedom  and  its  conditions. 

"  Dish  hyar  bully,"  he  observed,  eating  his  stew  with 
vast  relish  and  giving  never  a  spoonful  to  the  greedy 
Pete  and  Moses.  "  Dat  dar  Mas'r  Heaton  he's  despit 
hard  driver  an'  no  mistake,  but  he's  gran'  ter  feed  his 
niggas." 

Sometimes  Heaton  would  take  out  his  gun  and  shoot 
prairie  chickens,  of  which  Nancy  was  very  fond,  and 
which  Aunt  Monin  could  serve  up  in  a  way  that  would 
tempt  the  appetite  of  an  epicure.  Heaton,  with  his 
Eastern  ideas  of  equality,  would  have  had  the  prairie 
chickens  served  all  around  to  the  population  as  far  as 


168  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

they  would  go,  only  Aunt  Monin  had  her  say  upon  such 
a  course. 

"  Lordy,  Mas'r  Charlie,,  yo'll  spile  dem  niggas.  Dey 
nebber  be  no  good  no  mo'.  What  for  yo'  give  'em  white 
folks's  meat  like  dat?  Dey  on'y  'spise  yo'  an'  say  yo' 
don't  know  ary  differ'nce  'tween  niggas  an'  white  folks. 
'Fore  I  give  dem  prairie  chickens  to  de  darkies  I  feed 
'em  to  de  dorg.  Dat's  how  Aunt  Monin  fix  it." 

"  She  has  her  own  ideas  of  rank  and  quality,  which 
are  not  lightly  to  be  set  aside/'  said  Nancy  in  explana 
tion,  for  Heaton  was  rather  nonplussed  by  this  theory 
of  the  inequality  between  white  and  black  palates. 

"I  must  say  I  find  it  hard  to  always  understand 
the  ideas  you  Southerners  hold  in  regard  to  colored  per 
sons,"  said  he,  somewhat  amused. 

"  I  ain't  no  'pinion  o'  '  cullod  pussons,' "  remarked 
Aunt  Monin  with  the  most  scornful  contempt.  "  Whar 
I  been  raised  down  in  ole  Virginny  dar  warn't  no  '  cul 
lod  pusson.'  Dar  was  niggas,  an'  field  han's,  an'  dar 
was  servants  in  good  famblies.  I  warn't  nebber  a  field 
han'.  I  was  allers  servant  in  de  big  house.  Niggas  out 
in  Missouri  dey  is  powerful  ignunt;  dey  don't  know 
nuffm  how  ter  'have  'fore  white  folks — dey  don't,  fo' 
shu." 

"  Aunt  Monin,  I  think  you'd  spoil  any  one,"  said 
Heaton,  amused  at  her  quaint  philosophy. 

"  Mas'r  Charlie,  yo'  jess  go  fo'  ter  axe  Pete  an' 
Moses  if  Aunt  Monin  ebber  spile  ary  nigga  dat  yet  been 
bo'n,"  she  answered  severely. 

"  What  about  me  ?  "  asked  Nancy. 

"  Ah,  yo?,  honey-chile,  nuffin  spile  yo',"  said  the  old 
woman,  turning  a  beaming  look  of  love  to  her  foster 
child.  "  De  sunshine  on  de  roses  an'  de  dewdrops 
hangin'  to  'em  can't  spile  'em — dey's  roses  all  de  while. 
Dat  de  way  'long  o'  yo',  chile." 

Country   life   is   often   considered   monotonous   by 


THE  HIRED  MAN  169 

those  whose  only  idea  of  life  is  the  never-ending  succes 
sion  of  the  more  or  less  fierce  excitements  supplied  by 
towns  and  cities.  Farm  life  can  never  be  entirely  mo 
notonous  to  a  woman  if  she  takes  into  her  heart  the 
many  creatures  of  the  farm  and  gives  them  that  ma 
ternal  interest  that  is  always  near  the  surface  of  any 
really  womanly  nature.  By  habit  as  well  as  by  instinct 
a  woman  takes  to  young  creatures,  and  if  she  helps  to 
minister  to  their  wants  they  very  soon  enter  into  her 
life  and  fill  it  full  of  interests. 

Take  the  early  visit  to  the  first  calf  of  the  season. 
With  what  interest  one  opens  the  door  of  the  cow  shed. 
There  is  the  mother,  gently  anxious,  mooing  at  frequent 
intervals,  and  eagerly  watching  over  her  shoulder  to 
see  that  no  one  touches  that  precious  youngster  of  hers 
who  has  come  to  fulfil  the  overpowering  mother  in 
stinct.  And  the  youngster  himself,  standing  with  four 
legs  stretched  widely  apart,  so  as  to  get  as  firm  and 
broad  a  base  as  he  can  for  his  soft  and  tremulous  body, 
he  meets  you  with  a  whimsical  stare  of  surprise — sur 
prise  at  the  shaking  insufficiency  of  his  own  legs,  as  well 
as  amazement  that  a  being  so  singular  as  yourself  should 
come  to  see  him.  Did  ever  a  lady  hear  that  Mrs.  So-and- 
So  was  in  the  drawing-room  waiting  to  see  her  with 
half  as  much  satisfaction  as  that  with  which  the  mis- 
tress  of  a  farm  receives  the  news  of  the  arrival  of  the 
first  spring  calf? 

Of  the  playfulness  of  lambs  it  befits  no  mere  mortal 
now  to  speak  in  common  prose,  since  the  poets  have  long 
since  sung  their  praises  in  verse.  For  this  reason  pri 
marily  I  do  not  mention  them,  but  also  because  there 
were  no  lambs  on  Nancy's  farm,  sheep  being  an  un 
known  animal  to  the  prairie  farmer.  But  chickens 
abounded,  and  in  these  she  rejoiced  with  a  truly  femi 
nine  delight.  Hens,  being  of  a  shy  and  secluded  nature, 
unresponsive  to  advances,  and  also  not  much  in  evidence 


170  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

in  places  where  poets  roam  about  in  quest  of  rhymes 
and  suitable  subjects  for  verse,  have  not  been  selected 
for  the  same  amount  of  eulogy  and  favour  as  has  fallen 
to  the  share  of  the  lucky  lamb.  Chickens,  however,  are 
not  to  be  despised.  The  newborn  chicken  is  almost 
the  only  creature  that  comes  into  the  world  a  beautiful 
object  instead  of  a  repulsive  fright.  The  much-lauded 
lamb  is  ungainly,  thin-bodied,  and  outrageously  big 
kneed;  puppies  are  blind,  helpless,  hairy  slugs;  kittens 
are  mere  sightless  rats  without  the  power  of  locomotion; 
birds  of  the  air  are  wide-mouthed  skinny  creatures, 
shamelessly  devoid  of  clothing,  so  that  their  internal 
organisms  can  be  plainly  traced  through  their  trans 
parent  skins  even  without  the  aid  of  the  Rontgen  rays; 
foals  are  set  upon  stilts  and  can't  get  their  heads  to  the 
ground;  but  the  chick  conies  into  the  world  open-eyed, 
alert,  firm  on  its  tiny  legs,  able  to  feed  itself,  and,  above 
all,  decently  clad  in  fascinating  down.  Chickens  and 
baby  pigs  carry  the  palm  for  beauty  in  the  first  stages 
of  their  existence. 

Of  pigs  Nancy  had  none  as  yet,  but  a  few  samples  of 
the  more  portable  and  prolific  hen  had  been  brought  in 
a  coop  from  Missouri,  and  these  were  early  a  source  of 
interest  to  her.  She  was  not  a  novice,  however,  to  the 
delights  of  country  life,  and  knew  well  all  about  hens 
and  chickens  and  all  the  small  and  large  creatures  that 
make  up  the  complete  farm  family,  but  her  interest  in 
them  had  to  be  stimulated  anew,  just  as  her  interest 
in  everything  had  to  be  reawakened  into  activity  once 
more.  Without  knowing  it,  she  drew  her  inspiration 
of  life  entirely  from  her  "hired  man,"  this  complete 
stranger  who  had  suddenly  come  into  her  small  world 
and  filled  it  so  full.  On  his  side,  the  "hired  man" 
drew  his  inspiration  no  less  completely  from  Nancy, 
this  youthful  lady  whom  he  served  so  well,  but  he 
was  keenly  awake  to  the  state  of  his  own  feelings  and 


THE  HIRED  MAN  171 

knew  pretty  well  what  was  happening  to  himself  at 
least. 

It  was  a  strange  life  they  led,  meeting  only  at  meal 
times  and  in  the  long  pleasant  evenings  when  they  two 
and  Aunt  Monin  would  sit  in  the  flickering  firelight 
talking.  Sometimes  Heaton  would  tell  of  the  far-away 
Eastern  States  where  he  had  lived  such  a  different  sort  of 
life,  but  generally  indeed  they  talked  about  the  passing 
events  of  the  day.  These  were  so  fresh  and  so  varied 
to  their  young  imaginations  that  they  felt  very  little 
need  to  draw  upon  past  times.  The  present  was  so  de 
lightful.  Aunt  Monin,  who  surrounded  her  "  honey- 
chile  "  with  such  ceaseless  care  and  tenderness,  joined 
now  in  every  one  of  her  joys,  as  in  the  past  she  had 
consoled  her  in  her  tribulation.  Heaton  had  come  quite 
to  like  the  old  negress.  She  seemed  to  him  different 
from  the  ordinary  run  of  negroes;  perhaps  she  was  rec 
ommended  to  him  unconsciously  by  the  love  which 
Nancy  bore  her  old  nurse.  Be  that  as  it  may,  the  three 
lived  their  strange,  lonely^  hard-working  life  together 
and  were  completely  happy. 

The  winter  yielded  slowly  to  the  spring.  The  logs 
were  split,  the  pasture  fenced  in,  and  a  good  supply  of 
firewood  was  cut  ready  for  use  by  the  time  the  land 
was  open  for  ploughing,  when  all  hands  were  of  course 
turned  on  to  farm  work.  Heaton  looked  further  ahead 
than  the  end  of  the  world  in  his  preparations  for  the 
future,  at  least  so  it  seemed  to  the  lazy  negroes  who 
never  thought  of  cutting  wood  more  than  a  day  ahead  at 
the  most. 

Aunt  Monin,  who  though  a  negro  to  the  heart's  core 
was  not  at  all  lazy,  was  consumed  with  admiration  for 
"  Mas'r  Charlie,"  as  she  invariably  called  him.  The 
other  negroes  addressed  him  as  "  Mas'r  Ileaton  "  to  his 
face  and  "  ole  man  "  Heaton  behind  his  back.  She  felt 
it  her  duty  frequently  to  call  Nancy's  attention  to  the 
12 


172  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

amount  of  work  which  he  did  and  to  the  general  air 
of  prosperous  exertion  which  he  had  brought  into  the 
place,  an  unnecessary  precaution  since  the  young  mis 
tress  was  thoroughly  aware  of  it  herself. 

"  I  disremember  I  ebber  say  a  truer  word,  Miss 
Nancy,  dan  when  I  say  dat  outer  de  sto'm  an'  de  win' 
an'  de  snow  come  de  help  sent  by  de  Lo'd.  Yo'  ain't 
gwine  ter  forgit  dat,  is  yo',  chile?  " 

"  No,  Aunt  Monin,  I  sha'n't  ever  forget." 
"  An'  nebber  min'  if  suthin  happen  by  an'  bye  dat's 
'special  uncommon,  don't  yo'  go  an'  forgit  dat,  chile." 
Once  when  holding  forth  in  this  manner  on  her 
favourite   topic   she   suddenly   asked,   "  Yo'   ebber   see 
Mas'r  Charlie  'fore  he  come  slap  outer  de  snowstorm 
dat  night?"    As  she  put  this  question  she  looked  curi 
ously  at  Nancy,  as  if  trying  to  read  her  very  thoughts. 
"  Of  course  not;   I  never  saw   him  before.     How 
should  I?" 

"  Him  ain't  a  Kansas  man  anyhow,  dat's  shu'." 
"  He  came  out  from  Vermont  State  last  summer." 
"  See  dat  now!  "  exclaimed  she  with  apparent  tri~ 
umph;  "  I  knowed  he  warn't  no  poor  white  trash,  like 
dese  hyar  folks  in  Kansas." 

But  if  Aunt  Monin  took  an  especial  interest  in 
Heaton,  Susannah,  on  the  other  hand,  could  not  endure 
the  sight  of  him.  This  was  rather  an  annoyance  to 
Nancy  at  first,  for  she  had  made  the  mulatto  woman 
into  a  second  house  servant,  useful  in  the  domestic  work 
along  with  Aunt  Monin.  In  the  beginning  these  two 
had  always  come  into  the  kitchen  of  an  evening  when 
the  day's  work  was  over  and  Heaton  was  enjoying  the 
customary  long  chat  with  Nancy  before  making  off 
to  his  own  abode,  one  of  the  three  log  cabins  which  he 
had  appropriated  to  his  own  use.  Susannah  would  gaze 
at  him  with  fascinated  eyes  for  a  long  time  in  silence, 
after  which  she  would  suddenly  fall  a-weeping  and 


THE  HIRED  MAN  173 

a-praying  in  a  frantic  manner,,  and  would  have  to  be 
quieted  by  Aunt  Monin.  This  distressed  Nancy  so  much 
that  Susannah  was  bid  spend  her  evenings  henceforth 
along  with  the  other  negroes  in  their  particular  cabins. 
Heaton  had  never  been  accustomed  to  negroes  and 
knew  nothing  about  them.  Indeed,  he  rather  disliked 
them  than  otherwise,  considering  them,  rightly  enough, 
as  poor  shiftless,  lazy  creatures,  of  not  much  use  in  the 
world,  but  rather  an  impediment  to  hard  energetic  work, 
which  was  the  god  of  the  regular  Down  Easter.  He  did 
not  like  their  black  faces;  he  had,  in  fact,  in  common 
with  so  many  Northerners,  almost  a  repugnance  to  them, 
not  having  been  accustomed  to  them  from  early  child 
hood.  It  used  to  make  him  squirm  to  see  Nancy  put 
her  hands  on  Aunt  Monin's  cheek  and  pat  it  as  she  often 
did.  He  did  not  like  the  touch  of  their  soft  oily  skin 
nor  the  odour  that  undoubtedly  belonged  to  them.  This 
"  nigger  smell,"  as  it  was  contemptuously  styled,  was 
denied  by  fervid  friends  of  the  black  man  as  an  ignorant 
libel;  it  is  now  known  to  exist  as  a  scientific  fact.  All 
this  combined  to  make  Heaton  desire  to  have  the  negroes 
as  little  as  possible  in  personal  contact  with  himself, 
but  he  was  strictly  just  toward  them  and  animated  by 
a  deep  desire  to  do  all  he  could  to  ameliorate  their  con 
dition.  Though  he  might  not  like  to  touch  them,  he 
never  ill  treated  them  in  the  slightest  degree,  nor  even 
in  moments  of  extreme  exasperation  did  he  ever  swear 
at  them.  The  negroes,  on  their  side,  understood  his  jus 
tice  in  a  measure,  but  they  realized  much  more  fully  his 
personal  repugnance  to  themselves,  and  resented  it  far 
more  than  they  would  have  done  a  little  swearing  and 
an  occasional  kick  or  two.  Therefore  they  did  not  like 
him,  and  always  kept  at  a  distance  from  him,  never, 
with  the  exception  of  Aunt  Monin,  speaking  to  him 
unless  obliged  to  do  so.  He,  on  his  side,  laboured  under 
all  a  Northerner's  disadvantages,  and  never  could  see 


174  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

any  difference  between  one  negro  and  another.  They 
were  all  black  to  him,  and  for  a  length  of  time  he  did 
not  know  the  difference  between  M'linder  and  Lize 
Jane,  though  Lize  Jane  was  the  mother  of  three  chil 
dren  and  M'linder  was  a  girl  of  sixteen. 

But  though  Heaton  did  not  recognise  the  negroes, 
they  recognised  him,  and  it  was  whispered  among  them 
from  the  first  that  he  was  one  of  the  men  who  tried 
to  run  them  off  in  the  autumn,  when  "  ole  mas'r  "  was 
killed  in  the  sitting  room  and  Caesar  had  drowned  his 
child  in  a  frenzy  at  Mine  Creek.  No  whisper  of  this 
ever  came  to  Nancy's  ears,  however,  for  Aunt  Monin, 
who  had  heard  their  talk,  declared  in  her  most  impres 
sive  manner  that  she  would  whip  into  a  jelly  the  first 
nigger  who  opened  his  lips  upon  so  painful  a  subject  to 
Miss  Nancy.  And  since  they  all  loved  Nancy  in  their 
way  and  were  grateful  to  her  for  what  she  had  done 
for  them,  they  held  their  tongues,  affection  and  fear 
both  operating  to  insure  silence. 

Sambo  alone  groaned  in  secret  over  his  wrongs,  and 
notwithstanding  good  suppers  determined  to  run  away 
from  the  hard  work.  He  confided  his  intentions  to  Pete 
and  Moses,  and  those  young  darkies,  although  deeply 
sympathetic,  were  torn  with  feelings  of  conflicting  duty, 
first  to  Sambo  and  then  to  Miss  Nancy.  They  compro 
mised  by  telling  Aunt  Monin  what  was  in  the  wind,  and 
she,  of  course,  went  straight  to  Nancy  with  the  news. 

The  poor  girl  was  deeply  grieved,  feeling  that  the 
great  boon  of  freedom  ought  to  have  made  Sambo  for 
ever  grateful,  or  at  least  that  he  ought  to  have  been 
quite  frank  and  open  with  her. 

"  Depend  upon  it  he  does  not  understand  his  posi 
tion,"  remarked  Heaton,  who  was  present  when  Aunt 
Monin,  her  eyes  blazing  with  wrath,  told  the  story.  "  If 
the  fellow  knows  he  may  go  any  minute  and  that  you 
will  pay  him  his  wages  he  will  probably  quite  give  up  the 


THE  HIRED  MAN  175 

idea.  I  have  made  him  go  pretty  fast  ahead  with  the 
work,  and  he  isn't  broken  into  it  yet.  The  best  thing 
would  be  to  have  him  in  at  once  and  talk  the  matter  over 
with  him." 

Accordingly,  Sambo  was  fetched,  looking  very  much 
scared  indeed. 

"  I  hear  you  are  thinking  of  leaving  Miss  Nancy." 
observed  Heaton  in  a  friendly  manner,  which  utterly 
astounded  Sambo,  who  expected  to  be  threatened  with 
a  cowhiding  at  least,  if  not  with  actual  death,  for  at 
tempting  to  run  away,  so  utterly  ignorant  was  he  of 
the  primary  elements  of  the  status  of  freedom. 

He  made  some  stammering  protest  which  Heaton 
failed  to  understand. 

"  Were  you  thinking  of  going  to  Kansas  City  ? 
There  is  work  to  be  had  there,  steamboat  loading,  but 
it  is  very  heavy  work  and  generally  kills  off  young  fel 
lows  like  you.  I  think  you  had  better  stay  with  Miss 
Nancy  until  the  spring  is  well  opened.  Then  you  can 
hire  out  with  some  farmer  and  get  good  wages  straight 
on  through  the  summer.  There'll  be  work  going  and 
plenty  this  year,  I  expect.  But  if  you  really  want  to 
go  now,  you  can  do  so.  Miss  Nancy  will  pay  you 
your  wages,  since  you  have  worked  for  her  as  a  free 
negro." 

Nancy  handed  him  a  bundle  of  greenbacks,  saying: 
"  This  is  all  I  can  afford,  Sambo.  I  hope  you  will  do 
well.  I  have  done  my  best  by  you." 

Her  voice  quivered.  Sambo  was  utterly  overcome, 
and  fell  upon  his  knees,  blubbering  like  a  baby. 

"  Lordy,  Miss  Nancy,  don't  want  nebber  for  ter  go 
'way  from  yo'.  Sambo  stay  an'  work  for  yo'  all  his  life, 
so  he  will.  On'y  please,  Miss  Nancy,  yo'  ax  Mas'r 
Heaton  he  let  me  off  nudder  half  hour  at  dinna  time 
for  ter  go  sleep  a'ter  eatin'  de  vittles." 

Heaton  could  not  help  laughing.     "  Poor  devil!    I 


176  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

suppose  I  did  work  him  too  hard,  and  he  is  not  used 
to  it." 

Sambo  returned  to  his  cabin  and  kicked  both  Pete 
and  Moses  for  having  dared  to  tell  Miss  Nancy  he  was 
going  to  run  away,  and  promised  them  a  thorough 
thrashing  for  themselves  if  they  did  not  work  their  level 
best  for  her  every  day  of  their  lives  for  evermore.  The 
youths  were  amazed,  but  forbore  from  comments,  as  they 
were  howling  over  the  kicks  already  received,  and  were, 
moreover,  in  momentary  dread  of  receiving  another  dose 
should  they  offend  Sambo  in  his  present  savage  mood. 


CHAPTER  XV 

CONFESSIONS 

THE  spring  of  1861  had  begun,  that  spring  which 
was  to  blossom  into  such  a  summer  and  to  bear  such 
bitter  fruit  in  the  autumn.  From  the  South  the  storm 
clouds  were  rolling  up,  and  the  North  was  preparing  to 
meet  secession  by  force.  Excitement  was  rising  to 
fever  heat  in  almost  every  corner  of  the  country,  except 
perhaps  in  that  little  spot  where  our  interest  is  concen 
trated.  Nancy  and  Heaton  paid  little  or  no  attention 
to  the  storm  that  was  brewing.  Too  far  removed  from 
civilization  to  feel  more  than  a  faint  throb  of  its  feverish 
pulse,  these  two  young  people  were  so  pleasantly  ab 
sorbed  in  themselves  and  in  each  other  that  they  did 
not  pay  heed  even  to  that  symptom  of  the  oncoming  of 
the  great  struggle.  Heaton  had  no  thought,  no  wish, 
that  was  not  bounded  by  and  centred  in  that  tiny  hamlet. 

Of  course  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  Nancy.  It 
would  have  been  preposterous  if  he  had  not  done  so. 
He,  a  young  man  depending  for  his  whole  companion 
ship  on  a  young  girl,  a  very  pretty  young  girl,  with 
whom  he  was  constantly  associating  to  the  exclusion  of 
every  other  girl  under  the  canopy  of  heaven.  He  fell  in 
love  with  her  at  once,  and  he  fell  deeply  in  love,  more 
over.  He  knew  it,  and  he  also  knew  that  she  would  love 
him;  this,  not  from  inordinate  self-conceit,  but  from  the 
plain  fact  that  there  was  no  one  else  to  take  her  atten 
tion  off  himself. 

177 


178  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

Now  Heaton  was  of  a  romantic  turn  of  mind,  al 
though  he  did  not  suspect  this,  and  sometimes  he  used 
to  feel  a  shade  of  regret  that  his  own  love  story,  the 
poem  of  his  whole  life,  was  so  smooth  and  uneventful. 
He  saw  Nancy  every  day;  saw  her  with  her  negroes 
around  her,  the  gentle  yet  firm  mistress  kindly  ruling 
them  for  their  own  good;  saw  her  occupied  with  the 
daily  duties  of  the  house,  eagerly  absorbed  in  the  ex 
citements  incident  to  the  hatching  of  early  chickens; 
saw  her  gently  concerned  when  the  meal  bin  was  run 
ning  low  and  the  horses  were  not  available  to  go  to  the 
gristmill;  in  fact,  saw  her  fulfilling  the  duties  of  her 
station  with  seriousness  and  forethought.  He  knew 
that  he  loved  her.  He  knew  too  that  when  the  time 
came  he  could  with  a  word  awaken  the  love  light  in  her 
eyes.  There  were  no  doubtings  and  trepidations.  Did 
not  love,  imperious,  wayward  love,  demand  something 
more  than  this?  Some  greater  test  and  trial  of  devo 
tion? 

Nancy  with  her  clear  limpid  eyes  stood  before  him 
revealed  in  the  girlish  innocence  of  her  heart.  He  never 
suspected  that  there  might  be  a  fountain  of  passionate 
womanly  feeling  beneath  that  calm  and  gentle  exterior 
he  knew  so  well.  As  they  sat  in  the  firelight  of  an 
evening,  while  Aunt  Monin  poked  at  the  logs  as  it  was 
her  constant  delight  to  do,  Heaton  would  sometimes 
fall  into  a  waking  dream.  Nancy,  sitting  there  in  her 
low  chair,  was  not  the  young  girl  of  the  present  moment, 
she  was  the  image  of  the  future  wife.  And  he  no 
longer  saw  her  sitting  idly,  shielding  her  face  from  the 
bright  wood  blaze  with  her  small  vigorous  hands,  but 
his  fancy  pictured  her  leaning  over  something  that  was 
nestling  against  her  gentle  bosom,  while  those  soft 
round  arms  curved  themselves  into  a  warm  cradle  that 
held  within  their  sheltering  barrier  something  inex 
pressibly  precious.  This  was  the  picture  the  young 


CONFESSIONS  179 

man  saw  in  the  firelight  in  the  days  when  the  war  clouds 
were  rolling  up  blacker  and  blacker  from  the  South. 

How  calm  and  uneventful  the  future  stretched  out 
before  them!  They  would  live  at  Carthage,  he  and 
Nancy  together,  growing  old  in  the  home  they  had  built 
up  for  themselves,  and  hand  in  hand  they  would  walk 
on  toward  the  land  of  the  hereafter.  Thus  mused  the 
young  man,  holding  his  first  love  dream  to  his  heart. 
Storm  clouds  might  gather  unheeded  in  South  Carolina; 
none  were  visible  over  the  wide-stretching  horizon 
around  Carthage. 

At  least  not  to  his  eyes. 

But  others  there  were  whose  vision  was  clearer. 
Aunt  Monin  saw  and  rejoiced  in  the  love  that  was  com 
ing  into  her  honey-chile's  life,  the  strong,  manly  love 
that  she  needed  to  give  centre  and  aim  to  her  own  af 
fections  and  to  round  off  her  being;  but  Aunt  Monin 
dreaded  what  might  happen  when  Nancy  came  to  know, 
what  sooner  or  later  she  must  find  out,  the  part  that 
Heaton  had  unwittingly  played  in  her  past  life.  She 
knew  that  there  was  a  side  to  Nancy's  character  unsus 
pected  by  Heaton,  a  determination  and  a  will  that 
seemed  almost  foreign  to  so  young  and  gentle  a  crea 
ture.  It  was  there,  however,  and  Aunt  Monin,  who 
longed  to  see  her  fosterling  married  to  this  stalwart 
young  fellow,  dreaded  what  might  be  the  direction  that 
strong  will  would  take  when  she  discovered  the  secret 
which  each  was  keeping  so  unconsciously  from  the 
other.  The  secret  had  not  yet  been  told,  and  all  the 
old  woman  could  hope  was  that  it  might  not  be  told 
until  Nancy  was  Heaton's  wedded  wife,  when  she  would 
find  it  impossible  to  break  away  from  him,  even  in  the 
first  outrush  of  her  grief  and  despair.  Meantime,  all 
she  could  do  was  to  preach  in  her  own  mystical  way  to 
her  honey-chile,  and  thus  prepare  her  as  well  as  she 
could  for  the  shock,  without  actually  telling  her  any- 


180  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

thing.  This  she  accordingly  did  at  all  seasons  and 
under  all  possible  circumstances;  but  her  words  bore  no 
immediate  fruit,  as  Nancy's  mind  was  not  prepared  to 
understand  their  true  significance,,  and  Aunt  Monin 
dared  not  make  them  any  plainer. 

Love  transfigures  all  things  and  can  shed  a  halo  of 
rose-tinted  light  over  the  most  commonplace  scene. 
No  girl  can  ever  forget  the  moment  when  she  first  hears 
the  words  that  awake  her  heart  to  love,  nor  can  she  shut 
out  from  her  eyes  the  scene  where  those  words  were 
spoken.  It  is  photographed  upon  her  mind  in  the  flash 
which  floods  her  soul  with  light,  and  there  it  remains 
printed  to  the  last  day  of  her  life.  Heaton  and  Nancy 
were  returning  together  from  the  pasture  field  that  lay 
at  a  short  distance  from  the  house,  where  he  had  just 
impounded  a  wild  young  Indian  pony  which  he  in 
tended  to  train  for  Nancy's  sole  use.  It  was  the  first 
present  he  had  given  her,  and  she  was  pleased  beyond 
measure  at  the  wild  beautiful  young  creature.  They 
had  watched  the  pony  for  some  time,  and  were  going 
back  toward  the  house,  when  Heaton  suddenly  spoke  in 
a  voice  that  vibrated  with  a  different  tone  from  what 
Nancy  had  ever  heard  before.  He  told  her  in  a  few 
manly  words  of  his  love  for  her,  and  asked  her  to  be  his 
wife,  and  she,  not  surprised  and  not  startled,  had  an 
swered  a  firm,  full-voiced  "  Yes."  Then  he  took  her 
in  his  arms  and  gave  her  the  first  love  kiss  that  had  ever 
touched  those  sweet  lips  of  hers.  The  sun  was  just 
sinking  below  the  distant  horizon,  a  red  glowing  ball  of 
fire,  and  as  it  disappeared  great  bands  of  crimson  and 
gold  streaked  the  sky  above  the  blue  edge  of  the  prairie, 
looking  for  all  the  world  like  a  city  on  fire,  belching 
smoke  and  flame  into  the  air.  That  was  the  scene  im 
printed  by  love's  first  words  on  Nancy's  mental  vision, 
never  to  be  effaced.  In  after  years  it  often  rose  up 
again  before  her.  It  was  an  omen,  but  one  not  to  be 


CONFESSIONS  181 

understood  until  after  the  accomplishment  of  the  des 
tiny  it  foretold.  Such,  however,  has  always  been  the 
nature  of  omens. 

Aunt  Monin  was  transported  with  delight  when 
Nancy,  with  smiles  and  blushes  and  a  few  tears,  an 
nounced  her  engagement  to  Heaton. 

"  There  is  no  one  now  to  wish  me  joy  but  you,  Aunt 
Monin.  Kiss  me,  mawmee,"  she  said,  using  her  baby 
name  for  her  nurse. 

"  Honey-chile,  yo'  jess  fulnllin'  de  d'sign  o'  de  Lo'd 
when  he  sen'  Mas'r  Charlie  hyar  outer  de  snowstorm. 
Dat  war  de  special  Prov'dence  I  done  tell  yo'  'bout. 
Now  yo?  raise  off  de  curse,  an'  make  yer  way  smooth 
'fore  de  Lo'd,  an'  yer  days  long  in  de  Ian'.  Honey-chile, 
yer  mother  what  give  yo'  ter  me  f er  ter  save  me  from  de 
sin  o'  murder,  she  see  now  dis  hyar  spiation  jess  gwine 
ter  be  'complish,  an'  she  rejoice  wid  de  lamb." 

Aunt  Monin's  mystical  language  was  not  very  clear 
to  Nancy's  comprehension,  but  there  was  no  mistaking 
her  earnest  satisfaction  at  the  marriage  her  beloved 
child  was  going  to  make. 

Heaton  was  even  more  bewildered  by  Aunt  Monin's 
congratulations. 

"  Mas'r  Charlie,  the  han'  what  take  'way  kin  give 
back.  Yo'  jess  take  that  honey-chile  ter  yer  heart  an' 
love  her  all  the  days  o'  yer  life.  If  yo'  ebber  cause  her 
pang  o'  sorrow,  den  de  curse  come  down  'gain  an'  blight 
yer  life." 

"  Well,  Aunt  Monin,  she'll  never  shed  a  tear  if  I  can 
help  it.  You  may  be  sure  of  that,"  he  said  in  reply  to 
her  somewhat  oracular  remarks. 

"  Ain't  so  sure  o'  dat  by  long  sight,  Mas'r  Charlie. 
Dat's  jess  what's  troubling  me — yo'  dunno  what  yo'  do. 
Mebbe  yo'  go  'way  an'  leave  her." 

"  How  dare  you  hint  at  such  a  thing!  "  said  Heaton 
in  a  blaze  of  wrath. 


182  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

"  Bar's  strange  an'  wonderful  times  a-comin',  Mas'r 
Charlie,  an'  de  heavens  is  full  o'  signs  an'  won'ers.  Yo' 
see  dat  blood-red  streak  in  de  sky  dis  night?  Dat  mean 
suthin  awful's  gwine  ter  happen/'  replied  Aunt  Monin, 
taking  refuge  in  mystery  and  vagueness. 

"What?  The  red  sunset,  do  you  mean?  It  may 
betoken  a  storm  to-morrow,  that's  all/'  said  Heaton 
with  a  laugh. 

'  Ten'  upon  it,  Mas'r  Charlie,  dat  mean  suthin  more 
nor  rain  an'  win'.  I'se  sight  ol'er  nor  yo'  be,  an'  I  neb- 
ber  seed  de  sky  dartin'  flames  like  dat  nowhere,  an'  I  war 
riz  in  ole  Virginny  whar  dey  have  heap  o'  tings  dese 
hyar  folks  out  on  de  plains  nebber  hearn  tell  on." 

How  swiftly  sped  the  days  of  their  courtship,  and 
how  sweetly! 

There  was  no  reason  why  they  should  not  be  married 
out  of  hand,  a  course  that  Heaton  strongly  approved  of, 
but  Nancy,  womanlike,  wanted  to  get  a  few  new  things 
for  the  occasion.  No  woman,  be  she  ever  so  prosaic, 
could  feel  that  she  was  properly  married  unless  she  had 
something  new  in  the  way  of  clothes.  Aunt  Monin, 
while  anxious  for  an  immediate  wedding,  was  strong  on 
this  point.  Miss  Nancy's  mother  was  married  in  white 
muslin,  with  a  crown  of  flowers  on  her  head,  and  she 
was  married  down  in  "ole  Virginny."  Nothing  else 
must  Nancy  wear  but  white  muslin,  and  in  order  to  have 
the  similarity  more  complete  she  must  be  married  in  the 
middle  of  April,  just  as  that  mother  had  been  whom 
Nancy  had  never  seen,  but  who  had  become  such  a  po 
tent  influence  in  her  daughter's  life. 

Mrs.  Grundy  certainly  did  not  emigrate  to  Kansas 
with  the  first  rush  of  settlers.  They  lived  too  far  apart 
and  were  too  busy  with  their  own  concerns  to  have  much 
spare  time  for  criticising  their  neighbours.  Still,  wher 
ever  two  or  three  women  are  gathered  together  one  of 
them  is  pretty  sure  to  arrogate  to  herself  the  office  of 


CONFESSIONS  183 

critic.  Nancy's  nearest  neighbour,  many  miles  off  to 
be  sure,  was  a  widow  woman  with  a  son  just  grown  up, 
and  she  had  had  her  eye  upon  Nancy  from  the  start  as  a 
possible  match  for  her  gawk  of  a  boy.  She  had  sent 
him  on  all  sorts  of  errands  to  Nancy's  house,  but,  as  he 
was  hopelessly  shy,  he  did  himself  and  his  suit  no  good, 
and  his  mother  used  to  scold  him  on  his  return. 

Mrs.  Hale — that  was  the  self-constituted  critic's 
name — felt  it  her  bounden  duty  to  tell  Nancy  whenever 
she  made  any  mistakes,  and  shortly  after  Heaton's  first 
arrival  at  Carthage  her  sense  of  this  duty  necessitated 
her  telling  Nancy  what  a  mistake  it  was  to  take  him  on 
as  "  hired  man." 

"  I  'low  you  can't  pay  him  no  sorter  wage  as  'ull 
make  him  stay,"  she  remarked  on  her  first  visit,  after 
hearing  of  the  new  white  man  at  Carthage. 

"  He's  going  to  stay  till  the  crop  is  cut,  anyway," 
said  Nancy,  rather  proud  of  the  opportunity  of  showing 
Mrs.  Hale  that  she  understood  her  own  interest. 

"  Wai,  I  reckon  he'll  mos'  likely  put  in  a  power  o' 
corn  as  you  can't  hill  up  an'  cut — no,  not  if  you  had 
twice  as  many  han's  as  you  hev.  You  hed  oughter  hev 
consulted  my  son  Jeemes.  He's  powerful  cute  'bout 
f armin'  an'  all  that.  There  ain't  nary  one  on  the  prairie 
'ull  git  ahead  o'  Jeemes,  you  bet." 

When  Mrs.  Hale  saw  Heaton,  as  she  managed  to  do 
by  staying  uninvited  to  supper  and  finally  all  night,  to 
Nancy's  complete  disgust,  she  had  fierce  qualms  of 
jealousy  as  the  mother  of  a  possible  suitor  in  face  of  a 
probably  successful  rival. 

"  Whar  you  come  from?  "  she  asked  abruptly. 

"  From  Vermont,"  answered  Heaton,  raising  his  hat 
with  the  manners  of  another  civilization. 

"  Guess  you'll  not  make  any  great  shakes  o?  f  armin' 
out  this  er  way,"  replied  Mrs.  Hale,  eying  him  critically. 
"  There  was  a  feller  outer  Philydelphy  hyar  las'  year  an' 


184  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

he  war  sold  outer  farm  an'  Ian'  pretty  quick,  I  can  tell 
yer.  Kansas  ain't  no  place  for  them  sarcy  Down  East 
folks." 

"  We  sometimes  succeed  where  there  is  hard  work  to 
be  done/'  said  Heaton,  half  vexed  at  her  outrageous  self- 
satisfied  impudence. 

"  I'm  outer  ole  Kentuck.  My  ole  man  he  come 
'long  hyar  mos'  as  early  as  anybody,  he  did,  an'  he  kep' 
a-movin'  'long  an'  raisin'  corn  in  new  Ian'  mos'  every 
year." 

"  How  did  you  get  on  in  the  drought  last  year?  " 

"  We  done  pretty  toPble.  My  ole  man  he  tuck  an' 
died  o'  the  shake  an'  fever,  an'  Jeemes  he  'lowed  there 
warn't  nary  thing  better  ter  do  than  to  go  a-raidin'. 
So  he  Jay-Hawked  a  spell  down  in  Missouri,  an'  he  got 
a  heap  o'  corn  an'  truck,"  said  Mrs.  Hale  affably. 

"It  was  a  sinful,  wicked  thing  to  do,"  burst  out 
Fancy  passionately.  "  I  don't  see  how  you  people,  who 
are  all  for  freedom  and  call  yourselves  '  Free-soilers,' 
dare  do  such  things.  It  is  just  simple  robbery  and 
nothing  else.  That's  what  I  think." 

"Wai,  mos'  everybody  in  Kansas  is  a  Jay-Hawker. 
They  can  git  a  heap  o'  stuff  right  handy  that  er  way," 
said  Mrs.  Hale  in  defence  of  the  absent  Jeemes. 

"  I  don't  believe  it.  They  are  not  all  Jay-Hawkers. 
Kansas  men  aren't  all  robbers,  are  they,  Mr.  Heaton  ?  " 
said  Nancy  with  flashing  eyes. 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  he  earnestly.  "  The  best  of  the 
Jay-Hawkers  are  not  robbers;  they  don't  raid  for  the 
sake  of  stealing  at  all,  but  for  the  purpose  of  freeing  the 
slaves.  A  great  many  people  are  beginning  to  think 
that  even  with  this  sole  object  in  view  it  is  a  dangerous 
practice.  I  think  so  myself.  That's  not  the  way  to  set 
things  right." 

"  Ef  I  war  a  gal  as  war  a-lookin'  out  for  a  husband," 
remarked  Mrs.  Hale  somewhat  contemptuously  in  re- 


CONFESSIONS  185 

ply,  "  I  wouldn't  look  twice  at  ary  man  as  couldn't  ride 
as  peart  as  any  on  a  Jay-Hawk  raid.  What  we  women 
folk  wants  is  a  man  as  can  use  his  rifle  quick  an'  straight 
an'  defen'  us,  an'  not  them  sneakin'  Yankee  fellers  as 
on'y  kin  talk  like  a  preacher.  They  ain't  no  sorter  use 
on  the  prairie.  We  ain't  ready  yet  for  preachin'  fellers. 
We's  turnin'  up  fresh  sod,  that's  what  we're  doin'." 

"  I'd  as  soon  marry  a  road  robber  as  a  Jay-Hawker," 
said  Nancy  angrily  in  reply  to  this  exposition  of  out- 
and-out  Kansas  views. 

"  Wai,  mos'  gals  out  whar  I  was  riz  kinder  waited  till 
they  was  axed,"  remarked  Mrs.  Hale,  with  a  sting  at  the 
end  of  her  tongue  that  would  have  done  credit  to  a 
fashionable  lady,  and  yet  she  was  nothing  but  an  igno 
rant  settler's  wife.  But  she  knew  where  to  hit,  espe 
cially  as  Heaton  was  present.  "  Ther  hain't  nary  Jay- 
Hawker  axed  yer,  has  ther  yit?  Mebbe  they  wouldn't 
care  for  a  wife  with  no  sort  o'  sperrit  o'  her  own.  My 
son  Jeemes  wouldn't,  anyhow."  , 

This  was  too  good  an  opening  for  a  return  shot  for 
Nancy  to  neglect. 

<f  I  dare  say  your  son's  spirit  has  mostly  gone  in  Jay- 
Hawking,"  she  said  with  a  toss  of  her  head.  "  Anyhow, 
he  don't  seem  to  have  much  left  to  show  off  in  conversa 
tion.  He  sat  here  two  hours  by  the  clock  last  week,  and 
all  he  said  was,  ^  Ma's  ole  yaller  hen  done  laid  an  egg 
'thout  ary  shell.' " 

Heaton  burst  out  laughing  and  made  his  escape 
from  the  kitchen,  thinking  that  Nancy  was  a  match  for 
Mrs.  Hale  without  any  of  his  clumsy  assistance.  He 
did  not  reappear  again  that  evening,  leaving  Nancy  to 
wrestle  with  her  visitor  as  best  she  could.  Mrs.  Hale, 
thus  relieved  from  the  irritating  cause  of  her  ill  temper, 
became  more  agreeable  and  entertained  her  hostess 
throughout  the  evening  with  a  continual  flow  of  con 
versation,  wherein  boastings  of  herself  and  her  son 


186  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

Jeemes  took  a  leading  part.  In  the  morning  when 
Heaton  brought  her  horse  ready  saddled  for  her  to  ride 
home,  she  even  relented  so  far  toward  that  young  man 
as  to  remark,  that  she  "  calculated  he  warn't  gwinter  lope 
roun'  thar  ary  spell  longer  ner  he  could  help,  an'  she 
hearn  tell  thar  war  a  man  outer  Tecumseh  as  war  speer- 
in'  roun'  ter  fin'  a  man  for  ter  'tend  store  for  him,  an' 
mebbe  he'd  suit  thar." 

Heaton  thanked  her  for  the  hint,  but  said  that  he 
was  quite  satisfied  with  his  present  situation. 

What  Nancy  had  said  to  Mrs.  Hale  in  her  anger  re 
mained  with  him,  however,  and  he  often  thought  over  it, 
wondering  in  his  own  mind  if  he  should  tell  her  that  he, 
too,  had  once  ridden  in  a  Jay-Hawk  raid  to  his  own  deep 
sorrow.  Nancy  was,  he  realized,  a  woman  of  strong 
feeling,  and  he  did  not  know  how  it  might  affect  her  at 
titude  of  mind  toward  himself  if  she  knew  that  he  had 
been  mixed  up  in  one  of  those  very  expeditions  about 
which  she  used  such  uncompromising  expressions.  No 
one  could  deplore  the  results  of  that  fatal  ride  more 
than  he  did  himself,  but  it  was  quite  another  thing  for 
him  to  see  the  disapproval  which  he  felt  reflected  in  the 
beautiful  eyes  of  the  girl  he  loved.  He  did  not  feel 
himself  such  a  hero  as  to  be  able  to  run  the  risk  of  chill 
ing  her  regard  for  him  by  telling  her  of  the  raid.  This 
was  the  feeling  he  had  in  the  early  days  of  their  ac 
quaintance,  and  somehow  after  they  were  engaged  he 
did  not  find  it  one  whit  more  easy  to  tell  her.  He  dread 
ed  lest  she  might  think  that  he  ought  to  have  told  her 
before  asking  her  to  be  his  wife;  and  so  the  days  slipped 
by  and  the  story  was  still  untold. 

Their  wedding  day  was  fast  approaching,  and  Heaton 
took  himself  seriously  to  task.  It  was  not  right  to  let 
her  marry  him  without  knowing  this  fact  of  his  past  life. 
Come  what  may,  she  must  be  told  before  they  were  mar 
ried.  Of  course,  in  his  heart  he  knew  that  she  loved 


CONFESSIONS  187 

him  too  well  to  give  him  up  for  an  act  which  he  had 
long  since  bitterly  repented,  and  which,  after  all,  was 
not  an  uncommon  occurrence  in  the  society  in  which 
they  both  lived.  People  are  judged  by  the  prevailing 
standard  of  their  surroundings,  and  not  by  a  foreign  or 
ideal  standard.  It  was  their  intention  to  be  married  in 
Tecumseh,  and  then  to  go  to  Fort  Leavenworth  for  a 
week,  when  they  would  make  some  small  household 
purchases  upon  which  Nancy  had  set  her  woman's 
heart.  This  brief  wedding  tour  would  not  take  Heaton 
away  from  the  farm  work  for  too  long  at  this  important 
season  of  the  year. 

The  evening  before  they  were  to  go  away  to  be  mar 
ried  Heaton  and  Nancy  were  sitting  together  in  the 
kitchen  alone.  All  their  small  preparations  were  made, 
and  they  were  to  make  an  early  start  the  next  morning, 
accompanied  by  Aunt  Monin  and  Sambo,  who,  after 
acting  the  part  respectively  of  bridesmaid  and  grooms 
man,  were  to  bring  back  the  wagon,  while  the  newly 
wedded  pair  were  to  proceed  by  stagecoach  to  Fort 
Leavenworth  for  their  honeymoon,  as  it  is  called,  or 
honey  week,  as  it  was  really  to  be. 

Heaton,  loverlike,  was  holding  Nancy's  hand  as  he 
sat  beside  her. 

"  My  dearest  girl,  there  is  something  I  want  to  tell 
you.  I  am  going  to  confess,  as  they  say.  I  don't  want 
you  to  marry  a  man  about  whom  you'll  have  anything  to 
discover  later  on." 

His  voice  was  not  quite  steady,  and  a  fine  observer 
would  have  noticed  that  he  drew  his  breath  quickly,  as 
if  he  were  not  quite  sure  of  himself.  Nancy  turned  her 
dark  eyes  upon  him  and  gave  him  a  look  of  loving 
trustfulness,  as  much  as  to  say  that  absolution  awaited 
him.  Confession  was  but  a  formula. 

"  Nobody  can  feel  more  strongly  about  the  evils  of 

Jaw-Hawking  than  I  do.     You  have  often  heard  me  sav 

13  J 


188  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

so;  but  when  I  first  came  out  here  I  was  full  of  wild 
excitement.  The  John  Brown  fever  had  caught  me, 
and  I  saw  nothing  unjust  in  freeing  negroes  by  force. 
I  saw  only  the  ultimate  effect — that  of  freeing  the  slaves. 
I  did  not  realize  what  might  be  the  accompanying  de 
tails.  There  was  a  raid  last  year,  and  hearing  my  neigh 
bours  speak  about  it  I  joined,  without  any  distinct  com 
prehension  of  what  I  was  aiming  at  accomplishing,  and 
God  knows  without  any  idea  of  what  I  was  going  to  do." 

"What  time  of  year  was  it?"  asked  Nancy.  She 
withdrew  her  hand  from  his  clasp.  He  felt  a  pang  at 
her  doing  so,  but  he  answered  the  question. 

"  It  was  the  second  week  in  October." 

Heaton  did  not  look  at  Nancy  as  he  spoke;  he  feared 
to  meet  some  look  of  disapproval  in  her  dark  glance. 
Had  he  looked  he  would  have  been  startled  to  see  how 
ghastly  white  she  had  become.  He  continued  his  nar 
rative  in  a  steady  voice,  telling  the  plain  facts,  not  try 
ing  to  excuse  himself  in  any  way. 

"  I  was  living  at  Keokuk,  in  the  southern  part  of  the 
State,  where  I  told  you  I  have  some  land.  We  rode 
across  the  Missouri  line  and  separated  into  parties  of 
five,  to  go  to  the  different  farms  around  and  collect  up 
the  negroes.  I  was  ordered  to  go  into  a  certain  house 
and  keep  the  inmates  quiet.  They  told  me  I  would 
have  no  trouble,  as  there  were  only  women  and  an  old 
man  there.  I  remember  the  house  so  well,  standing  a 
little  way  back  from  the  road,  looking  so  peaceful  in 
the  afternoon  sunlight.  There  was  a  veranda  with 
some  grapevines  and  roses  growing  over  it,  and  a  bit 
of  ivy  just  turning  red  at  one  end." 

Nancy's  face  was  awful  to  behold.  Her  eyes  glit 
tered  unnaturally  and  were  distended  as  if  she  were 
looking  at  some  hideous  object  that  froze  her  heart 
with  horror,  yet  from  which  she  was  unable  to  remove 
her  horror-stricken  gaze.  Her  cheeks  were  colourless, 


CONFESSIONS  189 

her  lips  were  blanched.  Heaton  without  looking  at  her 
continued  his  story,  longing  for  some  sign  of  affection 
and  forgiveness  from  her,  yet  too  proud  and  too  just  to 
beg  for  it  until  the  whole  of  his  fault  should  have  been 
laid  before  her. 

"  I  went  into  the  sitting  room;  it  was  darkened,  but 
a  man  sat  in  a  chair.  I  told  him  I  was  a  Jay-Hawker, 
and  had  come  for  his  slaves;  that  resistance  was  useless. 
He  raised  his  head,  gave  me  such  a  look  of  defiance,  and 
told  some  one  to  fetch  his  gun.  I  didn't  see  any  one 
in  the  room.  I  dared  not  take  my  eyes  off  that  man's 
fierce  face  for  fear  that  he  should  spring  upon  me  and 
unarm  me.  Some  one,  a  girl  I  think,  handed  him  a 
gun,  and  I  saw  him  raise  it  to  fire.  It  was  my  life 
against  his.  I  had  never  meant  to  kill  him,  but  he 
forced  my  hand.  I  had  to  do  it  to  save  myself.  Was  it 
very  wrong,  Nancy?" 

He  looked  at  her  then.    Great  God!  was  that  Nancy? 

She  had  risen  to  her  feet  and  was  backing  slowly 
away  from  him;  she  threw  up  her  hands  with  a  gurgling 
cry  in  horrid  imitation  of  that  man  in  Missouri  after 
he  had  been  shot,  and  her  head  was  falling  back,  her 
eyes  staring,  her  face  a  dreadful  green-white  hue,  the 
hue  of  death.  The  door  of  the  inner  room  opened 
quickly,  and  she  fell  back  into  the  arms  of  Aunt  Monin, 
who  had  heard  the  cry.  Heaton  gazed  at  her  in  speech 
less  amaze.  He  had  never  suspected  that  her  feeling 
about  the  events  of  that  raid  would  have  been  so  strong. 

"Ah,  Mas'r  Charlie,"  said  Aunt  Monin's  voice  in 
deeply  sorrowful  cadence,  "  yo'  done  hit  her  plumb  fru 
de  heart,  jess  like  yo'  did  her  father.  Po'  honey- 
chile!  " 

Heaton  gave  a  hoarse  cry. 

"  What  does  it  mean?  "  he  asked,  panting. 

"  Dat  war  her  father  yo'  killed  las'  fall  in  Missouri. 
I  seed  yo'  an'  knowed  yo'  'gain  de  minute  yo'  come  inter 


190  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

dish  hyar  house.  She  nebber  knowed  yo',  an'  now  she's 
struck  fru  de  heart  by  yer  han'  too,  Mas'r  Charlie, 
same  like  her  ole  dad  war." 

"  This  is  the  curse  of  God !  "  exclaimed  Heaton, 
rushing  wildly  out  through  the  door  into  the  gathering 
dusk. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

OFF    TO    THE    WAES 

HEATON  spent  the  night  which  should  have  been  the 
last  of  his  bachelor  life  wandering  about  the  prairie,  a 
prey  to  the  wildest  grief.  To  think  that  of  all  the  men 
who  fell  in  the  long  border  war  which  was  waged  be 
tween  Kansas  and  Missouri  the  only  one  he  had  killed 
should  have  been  Nancy's  father!  Hers,  then,  was  that 
wailing  cry  that  had  rung  in  his  ears  that  day  and  had 
rung  in  his  heart  for  so  many  days  afterward.  How 
cruel,  how  inexorable  was  Fate,  which  had  decreed  that 
he  who  loved  her  with  his  whole  heart  should  be  the  one 
to  make  her  life  desolate!  He  could  not  picture  to  him 
self  a  more  awful  destiny,  and  turn  it  as  he  would  in 
his  mind  he  could  see  no  light  and  no  hope  anywhere. 
The  brand  of  Cain  was  on  him  still,  and  verily  his  pun 
ishment  was  almost  more  than  he  could  bear.  So  all 
through  the  spring  night  he  wandered  about,  too 
wretched  to  remain  at  home,  and  on  the  morning  that 
was  to  have  been  his  wedding  day  he  returned  to  his 
little  cabin,  looking  as  if  a  year  of  suffering  had  passed 
over  his  head. 

The  news  that  Miss  Nancy  was  ill  and  that  the  wed 
ding  had  been  put  off  soon  spread  among  the  negroes, 
who  went  about  with  faces  of  mystery,  wondering  what 
had  happened.  No  one  but  Aunt  Monin  knew  that  it 
was  Heat-on  who  had  fired  that  fatal  shot,  and  she  had 
never  told  any  one.  The  other  negroes,  although  per- 

191 


192  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

fectly  aware  that  he  had  ridden  in  the  raid  and  was 
among  those  who  fought  at  Mine  Creek,,  did  not  know 
the  particulars  of  what  had  taken  place  beyond  their  im 
mediate  observation.  None  of  them  had  been  in  the 
house  when  Overton  was  killed,  and,  beyond  the  fact 
that  the  old  mas'r  had  been  shot  by  one  of  the  Jay- 
Hawkers,  they  knew  nothing.  Thus  they  had  no  clew 
as  to  the  cause  of  Nancy's  sudden  illness,  but  they  were 
full  of  curiosity  and  awe.  Heaton  spent  the  whole 
day  shut  up  in  his  cabin,  seeing  no  one  and  speaking  to 
no  one.  Poor  fellow!  It  was  a  lonely  vigil  for  him  to 
keep  on  that  day  of  all  days. 

Toward  the  afternoon  Aunt  Monin  went  to  him  with 
some  food.  He  was  sitting  with  his  head  buried  in  his 
hands,  the  picture  of  hopeless  despair. 

"  Mas'r  Charlie,  why  don't  yo'  pray  for  de  Lo'd  ter 
show  yo'  some  sign,  so  yo'  know  what  ter  do  in  de  day 
o'  'fliction  ?  "  said  she,  looking  sorrowfully  at  him  in 
his  dumb  despair. 

"  I  can't,"  said  Heaton,  raising  two  mournful  eyes 
to  her  face  with  a  look  of  hopeless  misery.  "  Tell  me, 
how  is  she  ?  " 

"  Dat  honey-chile's  heart  done  broke/'  answered  the 
old  woman  with  a  sob. 

"  Can't  you  comfort  her?  Can't  you  say  something 
to  her?  "  he  asked  with  pitiful  eagerness. 

"  Ole  Aunt  Monin  can't  say  nuffin,  Mas'r  Charlie. 
She  on'y  pray,  an'  mebbe  de  LoM  he  put  words  o'  com 
fort  inter  de  ole  nigga  woman's  mouth  what'll  give  hope 
an'  cons'lation  to  de  suif'rin'  chile." 

"What  did  she  say?" 

"  She  don't  say  a  heap  nohow,  Mas'r  Charlie.  She 
like  she  done  lost  de  power  o'  speech  sometimes,  an'  she 
on'y  sob  an'  cry  an'  say  dat  she  love  yo'  so,  ah,  dat  she 
love  yo'  so! " 

Heaton  shivered. 


OFF  TO  THE  WARS  193 

"  Dat  honey-chile/'  went  on  Aunt  Monin,  while  the 
tears  ran  down  her  old  withered  cheeks,  "  she  ain't  like 
mos'  gals.  She  war  allers  mighty  lonesome,  an'  live  by 
herse'f  de  whole  life  long.  She  didn't  go  fo'  ter  have 
heap  o'  'lations,  like  some  folks.  She  hadn't  no  mother, 
on'y  jess  her  ole  dad,  what  she  love.  Den  de  han'  o'  de 
Lo'd  fall  'pon  him,  an'  he  war  taken  from  her.  Den  she 
didn't  have  nobody  lef  'cept  ole  Aunt  Monin  to  love. 
Den  bimeby  yo'  come  'long,  Mas'r  Charlie,  an'  I  'low  dat 
war  de  spiation  fo'  dat  sin  o'  spillin'  blood.  An'  she 
love  yo'  like  yo'  don't  know  how  much.  She  jess  give 
yo'  all  de  love  dat  go  ter  father  an'  mother  an'*  sisters  in 
mos'  gals.  She  didn't  have  nary  one  to  love  'cept  yo', 
an'  yo'  got  it  all.  Den  dar  come  de  rev'lation  'bout  de 
killin'  o'  de  ole  mas'r.  An'  she  'pears  like  she  can't 
nebber  forgit  dat  yer  han'  has  pulled  de  trigger  what  kill 
her  old  dad.  She  don'  see  dat  war  de  han'  o'  de  Lo'd 
what  done  dat  ar  in  spiation  o'  de  sin  what  he  guilty 
of." 

Heaton  was  not  listening  to  this  last  remark,  and  if 
he  had  listened  he  would  not  have  understood  to  what 
she  alluded.  His  mind  was  riveted  upon  one  thought: 
his  hand  had  slain  her  father.  Could  he  marvel  that 
she  shrank  from  him  instinctively?  She  saw  blood 
on  his  hand,  and  that  blood  was  her  father's.  It 
would  be  almost  unnatural  had  she  not  shrunk  from 
him,  and  yet  he  was  the  one  being  in  the  whole  world 
whom  she  most  loved. 

"  I  must  see  her,"  he  said  at  length.  "  I  must  try 
and  talk  to  her  and  set  it  before  her  in  a  different  light." 

He  started  to  leave  the  cabin,  but  Aunt  Monin 
stepped  quickly  before  him.  "  Mas'r  Charlie,  yo' 
mustn't  go  an'  try  fo'  ter  see  her.  She  don't  want  yo' 
ter  do  dat.  She  done  tole  me  so." 

The  young  man  sat  down  again.  Nancy's  slightest 
wish  was  law  to  him. 


194:  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

"  By  and  bye  mayn't  I  see  her?  I  am  sure  I  could 
say  something  to  her/'  he  urged. 

Aunt  Monin  shook  her  head. 

"  I  don't  reckon  you'll  ebber  see  her  'gain." 

Heaton  sprang  up  with  a  passionate  cry. 

"  Aunt  Monin,  don't  say  that!  It  is  wicked.  She 
will  love  me  again  after  a  while  when  she  has  had  a 
little  time  to  get  over  it." 

"  Mas'r  Charlie,  she  love  yo'  now  dish  bressed  min 
ute.  Dat  what  she  say  all  de  night  long,  dat  she  love 
yo'  so.  Dat's  why  she's  gwine  'way." 

"  She  mustn't  go  away.  Why  should  she  go?"  he 
asked,  tramping  up  and  down  the  small  room,  pressing 
his  hands  together  in  his  agony  of  mind. 

"  She  say  she  gwine  'way  'cause  she  can't  stay  near 
yo',  an'  she  love  yo'  always.  She's  gwine  ter  Lawrence 
ter  live  dar.  An'  she  say  yo'  can  keep  de  farm  an'  de 
crop." 

"  Tell  her  she  mustn't,"  said  Heaton  with  desperate 
earnestness.  "  Tell  her  that  if  she  does  not  want  to 
see  me,  I  will  go  away.  Tell  her  I  will  stay  away  until 
she  calls  me  back.  She  must  not  go  away.  I  can  not 
bear  it.  I  have  twice  wrecked  her  happiness  and  twice 
broken  up  her  home.  Oh,  my  God!  " 

He  sat  down  again  and  hid  his  face  in  his  hands, 
his  whole  frame  shaken  by  a  bitter  sob  that  came  from 
his  very  heart.  Aunt  Monin  looked  at  him  in  mournful  , 
silence,  and  when  the  frantic  paroxysm  of  his  grief 
had  spent  itself,  she  said:  "  Can't  yo'  eat  a  little  mite  o' 
vittles,  Mas'r  Charlie?"  She  set  the  plate  she  had 
brought  before  him  on  the  table,  but  he  only  shook  his 
head  and  pushed  it  away. 

"  Miss  Nancy,  she  done  tole  me  ter  make  yo'  eat  a 
speck  o'  suthin,"  said  the  old  woman. 

"Did  she  want  me  to?"  asked  Heaton,  raising  his 
eyes. 


OFF  TO  THE  WARS  195 

"  Yes,  Mas'r  Charlie." 

He  forced  himself  to  eat  a  few  mouthfuls,  and  then 
Aunt  Monin  went  away,  leaving  him  to  his  mournful  re 
flections. 

When  two  days,  two  unutterably  long  days,  had 
passed,  and  still  Nancy  did  not  see  him,  he  began  to 
realize  that  it  was  her  determination  not  to  see  him 
again.  The  thought  when  first  it  presented  itself  to  his 
mind  had  been  dismissed  as  too  miserable  to  be  en 
dured,  but  as  time  went  on  and  still  Nancy  would  not 
see  him  he  began  to  perceive  that  the  idea  must  be 
borne  no  matter  how  terrible  it  was.  For  them  to  re 
main  so  close  together  and  yet  so  far  apart  was  living 
death  to  them  both.  Life  like  that  could  not  go  on. 
He  resolved,  therefore,  to  go  away  at  once.  It  was 
with  a  sort  of  savage  rage  that  he  saw  there  was  work 
for  him  to  do  which  might  soon  put  an  end  to  all  his 
misery. 

It  was  the  third  week  in  the  month  of  April.  Fort 
Sumter  had  been  fired  upon  and  captured  by  impudent 
South  Carolina,  and  already  the  ominous  tramp  had 
begun  in  the  North  of  men  marching  South  to  fight 
for  the  preservation  of  the  Union,  which,  whether  they 
reasoned  it  out  or  not,  was  instinctively  felt  to  be  the 
very  life  of  the  nation.  The  first  call  had  been  made 
for  volunteers  to  serve  for  ninety  days,  so  little  did  men 
then  foresee  the  course  of  that  long  and  bloody  struggle. 
On  the  fourth  day  of  his  misery  Heaton  rode  into  Te- 
cumseh  and  gave  in  his  name  as  a  volunteer.  He  was 
ordered  to  join  a  troop  from  Fort  Leavenworth  which 
was  to  start  for  the  Potomac,  whither  all  the  men  were 
hurrying,  and  that  within  twenty-four  hours.  Time 
pressed  and  men  were  wanted  to  defend  the  capital  as 
fast  as  possible.  The  Sixth  Massachusetts  had  already 
gone  to  Washington,  and  had  been  set  upon  by  the 
roughs  of  Baltimore,  and  had  been  obliged  to  fire  their 


196  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

first  shots  in  the  streets  of  that  town  in  self-defence. 
The  war  had  in  veriest  truth  begun. 

Notwithstanding  his  grief  and  the  bitter  ending  of 
his  brief  love  story,  Heaton  could  not  help  a  certain 
feeling  of  exhilaration  as  he  rode  back  from  Tecumseh 
to  Carthage.  He  had  now  something  to  do,  something 
that  would  absorb  all  his  faculties  and  give  no  time  for 
vain  regrets  and  hopeless  musings.  Physical  exertion 
in  some  measure  drives  away  sorrow.  It  is  the  deadly 
inaction  after  grief  that  makes  such  deep  scars  upon 
the  heart.  Thus  men  are  the  more  rapidly  able  to  re 
cover  after  a  blow  than  women,  because  they  are  out  in 
the  world  and  can  not  give  so  much  time  to  their  sor 
rows  as  women  can.  As  he  rode  along  the  familiar 
track  the  young  man  paused  for  a  moment  to  look  about 
him.  His  eye  swept  the  horizon,  bordered  by  the  blue 
woods  of  the  Kaw  Eiver,  as  it  came  from  the  mysterious 
West  and  pursued  its  way  to  the  far  distant  Gulf  of 
Mexico.  The  rolling  slope  of  the  near  ridge  of  prairie 
showed  the  tender  green  of  the  early  springing  grass, 
and  there  in  the  foreground  lay  the  cluster  of  cabins 
which  had  been  to  him  a  home,  and  which  held  all  that 
was  most  dear  to  him  on  earth.  There  was  Nancy's 
window,  and  there  the  door  where  in  memory  he  would 
see  her  stand  long  after  he  had  left  her,  maybe,  forever. 
That  was  the  door  where  he  had  seen  her  standing  on 
that  snowy  night  with  the  nickering  firelight  just  catch 
ing  the  silhouette  of  her  face  and  drawing  shining  lines 
of  light  in  her  black  hair. 

People  say  that  when  men  are  dying  they  see  visions 
with  wonderful  clearness.  As  Heaton  sat  on  his  horse 
looking  at  this  view  he  wondered  if  he  were  killed 
should  he  have  time  before  breathing  his  last  to  see 
again  once  more  that  vision  of  Nancy  in  the  doorway. 
That  was  the  vision  he  wanted  to  carry  with  him  into 
the  grave,  and  not  that  other  vision  of  a  grief-stricken 


OFF  TO  THE  WARS  197 

woman  with  despairing  cry  falling  backward  into  the 
arms  of  her  old  nurse. 

Was  this,  then,  to  be  the  end  of  his  young  love  dream 
— that  love  dream  that  had  seemed  to  him  to  be  destined 
to  follow  so  serene  and  smooth  a  course?  He  remem 
bered  with  a  pang  of  remorse  how  sometimes  half- 
formed  thoughts  or  fancies  had  swept  across  his  mind 
that  the  course  of  his  love  was  too  uneventful,  too  fair, 
too  unruffled.  His  feelings  of  vague  discontent  and 
longing  for  more  excitement  had  really  been  but  the 
merest  ripple  upon  the  calm  surface  of  his  life.  But 
now  in  the  shipwreck  of  his  happiness  he  looked  back, 
reproaching  himself.  Were  there  envious  Fates,  then, 
who  overruled  man's  destiny  to  his  own  destruction, 
and  because  he  may  have  sighed  for  a  slight  breeze  took 
hellish  delight  in  sending  a  hurricane  to  dash  him  upon 
the  rocks  and  shatter  him  to  pieces?  Surely  this  was 
a  pagan  notion  that  no  man  now  could  hold  for  true,  but 
in  times  past  there  must  have  been  bitter  experiences 
of  such  sudden  shifts  of  fortune  to  make  men  set  up  the 
idea  that  they  must  propitiate  the  Fates  by  the  sacri 
fice  of  something  valuable.  Yet  in  the  very  telling  of 
the  story  of  such  sacrifice  its  uselessness  was  impressed 
upon  the  hearer.  Polycrates  couldn't  save  himself. 
Fate  hurled  back  his  priceless  ring,  determined  to  be 
revenged  on  him  in  more  direful  ways  for  his  too  great 
happiness  and  good  fortune.  So  it  was  with  Heaton 
to-day.  Man  has  learned  much,  but  not  how  to  save 
himself  from  the  strokes  of  ill  fortune  that  seem  to  be 
stored  up  and  held  in  readiness  for  all  time.  The  most 
that  philosophy  or  religion  can  teach  is  simply  either  to 
endure  with  fortitude  or  to  bow  the  head  in  humility. 
Man's  life  track  is  marked  out  beforehand  for  him,  but 
marked  with  clumsy  disregard  of  the  fate  of  him  who 
has  to  travel  it.  There  are  no  danger  signals  up  nor 
beacon  lights  burning  at  the  deadly  turning  points — 


198  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

nothing  to  show  him  where  lies  the  hidden  danger,  the 
after-effects  of  which  will  be  so  terrible.  He  is  bidden 
follow  the  track  in  blind  helplessness,  often,  no  doubt, 
passing  close  to  perils  that  would  have  been  fatal,  only 
he  slipped  unconsciously  by  just  on  the  safe  side,  but 
sometimes  falling  a  victim  because,  just  as  unconscious 
ly,  he  veered  to  the  danger  side.  The  dividing  line  is 
so  narrow  that  none  can  see  it,  and  so  mankind  in  blind 
ness,  but  ever  in  hope,  pursues  his  course  along  the 
track  of  life,  where  many,  long  before  the  goal  is 
reached,  stumble  and  fall  to  rise  no  more. 

Thus  musing  on  his  own  fate  Heaton  rode  up  to  the 
bars,  where  he  was  roused  from  his  gloomy  meditations 
by  the  two  young  darkies  Pete  and  Moses,  who  ran  out 
to  take  his  horse.  They  were  accustomed  to  his  silence, 
doubly  accentuated  during  this  season  of  mourning  and 
doubt,  but  they  glanced  at  him  curiously,  for  with  the 
sharpness  of  slaves,  who  are  wont  to  read  every  look  in 
their  master's  face  and  to  shape  their  course  accordingly, 
they  perceived,  as  it  were,  an  added  line  of  sternness 
about  his  mouth. 

"  Tell  Sambo  to  get  out  the  wagon  and  the  brown 
horses.  I  am  going  into  Tecumseh  again  to-day,  and  I 
shall  want  him  to  bring  home  the  wagon.  I'm  not 
coming  back  any  more,"  said  Heaton  as  he  gave  his 
bridle  rein  to  Pete. 

"  Whar  yo'  gwine,  mas'r?"  asked  Moses,  venturing 
upon  the  extreme  audacity  of  a  direct  question,  since 
the  extraordinary  circumstances  seemed  to  warrant  lib 
erties  being  taken. 

"  I'm  going  to  the  war,  to  be  killed  most  likely," 
answered  Heaton  bitterly. 

The  young  darkies  instantly  set  up  a  lugubrious 
howl,  not  unmelodious  in  the  distance,  their  official 
signal  of  grief,  much  resorted  to  by  negroes  on  the  occa 
sion  of  a  death.  Heaton  walked  away  to  his  cabin  to 


OFF  TO  THE  WARS  199 

make  his  rapid  preparations  and  to  write  a  letter  of 
farewell  to  Nancy.  The  news  of  his  departure  and  the 
object  of  his  going  soon  became  known,  and  a  vast 
amount  of  howling  resulted,  for  the  negroes  felt  in  duty 
bound  to  mourn  for  the  "  mas'r."  They  could  not  for 
get  the  absolute  justice  and  unvarying  kindness  with 
which  he  had  always  treated  them.  Very  soon  their 
native  desire  to  make  a  song  and  a  dance  of  everything 
began  to  assert  itself.  Words  slipped  into  the  howlings, 
which  became  more  musical.  The  tendency  to  chant 
their  emotions  and  dance  to  them  is  indicative  of  a 
very  primitive  stage  of  human  development.  The  idea 
clashes  with  our  notions  of  what  is  seemly,  because  we 
have  relegated  singing  and  dancing,  especially  dancing, 
only  to  moments  of  the  most  frivolous  leisure,  but 
among  the  ruder  races  of  mankind  dancing  and  sing 
ing  hold  quite  another  position.  The  dancing  dervishes 
are  far  from  being  animated  by  frivolity,  and  the  Irish 
peasant's  keen  at  a  funeral  is  a  sign  of  deep  woe.  The 
keen,  or  melodious  howl  in  a  minor  key,  fittingly  ex 
presses  their  grief  at  the  death  of  their  beloved  one.  It 
strikes  us  as  uncouth,  because  it  is  not  the  custom  for 
the  rigid  self-contained  Anglo-Saxon  to  howl  with  any 
thing  but  rage. 

The  negroes  perhaps  brought  their  mournful  death 
cadences  with  them  from  Africa,  and  nothing  that  has 
taken  place  in  their  history  from  that  time  forward  is 
sufficiently  exhilarating  to  cause  them  to  change  their 
songs  into  a  major  key.  I  know  of  no  sound  more  in- 
laden  with  sorrow  and  mourning  than  that  of  real 
negroes  singing  their  real  songs.  These  songs  are  rude 
and  violate  every  rule  known  to  our  rhymesters,  but  they 
carry  a  burden  of  sadness  in  their  cadence  which  would 
make  the  reputation  of  half  a  dozen  poets  could  they 
incorporate  it  into  their  carefully  polished  elegies. 

"  Is  there  any  one  dying  among  the  negroes  that 


200  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

they  sing  like  that?  "  asked  Nancy,  hearing  the  wailing 
and  recognising  it  as  a  sign  of  woe. 

"  No,  Miss  Nancy,  dar  ain't  no  nigga  dyin'  dish 
time.  Dey's  on'y  singin'  de  good-bye  song  fo'  Mas'r 
Charlie.  He's  gwine  off  to  de  war,  an'  he  won't  nebber 
come  back  no  mo'.  He's  gwine  ter  lay  down  his  life  fo' 
de  niggas  an'  free  de  slaves." 

Aunt  Monin  had  no  authority  for  any  of  these  state 
ments  except  of  course  that  Heaton  had  volunteered 
for  a  soldier,  but  she  was  a  strong  partisan,  and  her 
affection  for  "Mas'r  Charlie"  prompted  her  to  place 
him  in  the  most  affecting  light  possible. 

"  Oh,  not  yet,  not  now!  "  exclaimed  Nancy,  suddenly 
brought  face  to  face  with  the  thought  that  Heaton  was 
going  from  her,  and  that  she  would  see  him  no  more. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Nancy,  he's  gwine  for  shu'.  Sambo  done 
hitch  up  de  brown  bosses  in  de  wagon  for  ter  take  him 
'way  to  die." 

This  was  pure  hyperbole,  but  Nancy  did  not  wait 
to  reason.  All  her  love  rose  up  in  her  heart,  overwhelm 
ing  every  other  recollection.  Charlie  was  going  off  to 
the  wars,  and  she  loved  him  so. 

Ah,  me!  In  those  years  how  many  times  in  every 
village,  in  every  State,  was  the  same  tragedy  repeated! 
Soldiers  going  away  amid  hurried  farewells,  and  broken 
hearted  girls  sobbing  out  their  hearts  for  the  lovers  who 
might  never  come  back  to  them. 

The  negroes  who  were  clustering  around  the  wagon 
and  talking  to  Sambo  were  startled  by  the  sudden  flash 
of  Nancy,  who  sped  past  them,  her  dark  hair  streaming 
down  her  back,  her  black  eyes  glittering  unnaturally  in 
her  white  face.  She  went  straight  from  her  door  to 
Heaton's  little  cabin  and  entered  breathless.  He  had 
finished  his  brief  letter  to  her,  and  was  standing  up  put 
ting  on  his  cartridge  belt  when,  without  a  note  of  warn 
ing,  Nancy  came  in. 


OFF  TO  THE  WARS  201 

It  was  not  a  moment  for  words.  Their  hearts  were 
too  full  for  that  slow  and  imperfect  medium  of  com 
munication.  Instinctively  they  fell  back  upon  Nature's 
simple  language.  Nancy  threw  herself  sobbing  upon 
Heaton's  bosom,  and  he  clasped  her  in  his  arms,,  kissing 
her  dark  hair.  After  some  moments  she  raised  her 
tearful  eyes  and  said  under  her  breath,  "  Are  you  really 
going,  Charlie?" 

"  Yes,  dearest.  It  is  best  so.  It  is  my  expiation. 
If  I  come  back,  will  you  forgive  me  by  and  bye?  If  I 
never  come  back,  will  you  forgive  me  now?  " 

There  was  forgiveness,  there  was  despair,  in  the 
cry  with  which  Nancy  again  threw  her  arms  around 
his  neck  and  laid  her  soft  cheek  against  the  cartridges 
and  pressed  those  destructive  objects  into  her  tender 
flesh.  Heaton  patted  the  quivering  form  and  in  a  chok 
ing  voice  tried  to  comfort  her,  but  what  comfort  was 
possible  at  such  a  moment?  So  she  laid  her  head  down 
and  wept,  as  hundreds  of  others  were  weeping  that 
night  and  clinging  around  their  lovers'  necks  in  an 
agony  of  hopeless  despair. 

"  De  wagon's  ready,  mas'r,  an'  de  bosses  is  stompin' 
der  hoofs  off,"  said  Sambo,  poking  his  black  face  in 
through  the  door. 

"  Send  Aunt  Monin  here/'  said  Heaton,  not  daring 
to  leave  poor  Nancy  alone  in  the  supreme  moment  of 
her  despair. 

The  old  woman  came  quickly  enough.  Her  loving 
heart  told  her  why  she  was  wanted. 

"  Take  care  of  her,  Aunt  Monin,"  said  he,  putting 
Nancy  into  the  arms  that  had  sheltered  her  since  baby 
hood. 

"  Honey-chile,  trust  in  de  Lo'd  dat  he  watch  over 
Mas'r  Charlie  in  de  midst  o'  de  roar  o'  de  battle.  Pray 
to  de  Lo'd,  chile." 

Nancy  knelt,  burying  her  face  in  her  hands  in  silent 


202  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

misery;  her  dark  hair  fell  around  her  as  a  veil.  The  old 
negress,  standing  over  her.  raised  her  wrinkled  face  up 
ward  and,  stretching  out  her  hands,  said: 

"  Lo'd,  have  mercy  'pon  all  those  in  sorrow  an'  'flic- 
tion  an'  comfort  der  hearts." 

"Amen!"  said  Heaton  as  he  softly  left  the  room. 
And  that  was  the  last  image  of  Nancy  that  he  carried 
away  with  him  to  the  war,  the  image  of  her  kneeling  at 
her  nurse's  feet,  with  her  dark  hair  shading  her  face 
and  her  form  vibrating  with  sobs. 

The  negroes  broke  out  afresh  in  their  wailing  as  the 
wragon  moved  off.  It  was  their  farewell. 

"  Mas'r  done  gone  to  de  war, 
He  nebber  come  back  no  mo', 
An'  de  tree  frog  sing  on  his  grave, 
'Way  down  in  ole  Virginny,  oh!  " 

The  rise  and  fall  of  the  cadence  could  still  be  heard 
long  after  Heaton  had  got  beyond  the  reach  of  the  very 
lugubrious  dirge  which  sent  quite  a  shiver  of  forebod 
ing  over  him. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

BUSHWHACKERS 

THAT  same  spring  month  which  saw  the  rebellion 
begin  on  the  banks  of  the  Potomac  let  loose  the  dogs 
of  war  all  along  the  Missouri  line.  War  indeed  had 
existed  in  a  spasmodic  form  for  full  five  years  or  more, 
but  it  was  not  called  by  that  name;  and  the  raids  on  one 
side  and  the  other  were  extolled  cr  decried  according 
to  the  bias  of  the  people  engaged  in  them  or  of  the 
sufferers  from  them.  Such  a  training  made  very  relent 
less  soldiers  when  the  time  came  to  give  the  raiders  on 
both  sides  that  title.  Quiet  settlers  on  the  border  aban 
doned  their  farms,  for  Missouri  was  just  on  the  dividing 
line  between  North  and  South,  and  while  the  northern 
half  of  it  remained  in  the  Union,  the  southern  portion 
sympathized  with  the  secession  States.  According  as 
the  fortune  of  war  swayed  and  changed,  so  the  line  of 
demarcation  was  pushed  farther  up  toward  St.  Louis 
or  was  rolled  back  to  Arkansas.  Such  a  land  was  no 
place  for  peaceful  farming  folk;  it  was  much  too  dis 
turbed  for  them.  Men  don't  care  to  plant  corn,  if  the 
field  is  to  be  used  for  a  battle  ground,  to  be  ridden  over 
by  the  living  and  cumbered  by  the  dead,  when  the  crop 
is  half  grown.  Nor  do  they  relish  raising  horses,  if  they 
are  likely  to  be  taken  when  old  enough  for  the  saddle, 
even  if  paid  a  good  price  for  them  in  worthless  Confed 
erate  paper.  Thus  the  rich  land  near  the  line  became 
deserted  by  men,  and  the  deer  roamed  in  and  rested 
14  203 


204  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

beneath  the  shade  of  peach  trees  heavy  laden  with  velvet 
fruit  which  no  one  was  there  to  gather.  The  hogs,  too, 
let  loose  out  of  their  once  narrow  pens,  got  thin  from 
lack  of  fattening  food,  but  the  sinews  of  their  legs  re 
sumed  power  to  move  their  bodies  once  more,  and  swift 
as  the  flight  of  a  hound  was  the  rush  of  the  black 
bristling  hogs  crashing  through  the  tangled  underwood. 
They  enjoyed  the  peaches  and  drove  out  the  deer  with 
many  a  grunt  of  deep  satisfaction  as  they  munched  up 
the  fallen  fruit,  extracting  the  last  invigorating  whiff 
of  prussic  acid  from  out  the  cracked  stone  before  swal 
lowing  it.  Oh,  those  were  gay  times  for  the  hogs  down 
in  Missouri  when  the  farmers  had  fled  and  left  their 
orchards  to  the  swine!  But  it  was  less  cheerful  after  the 
first  frost  had  sent  down  the  shower  of  shrivelled  and 
sweet-tasting  persimmons,  too  soon  to  be  devoured,  leav 
ing  nothing  behind  but  frozen  ground  and  acorns  lying 
under  the  leaves.  Then  the  hogs  had  to  root  and  bur 
row  and  toil  from  morn  till  night  to  get  food,  and  all 
the  while  they  got  thinner  and  thinner,  and  the  sinews 
of  their  legs  stood  out  like  whipcord.  They  had  not 
much  weight  to  carry,  but  their  weak  legs  were  not  able 
for  the  lightened  load.  So,  wondering  perchance  at  the 
change  that  had  come  over  the  world,  now  all  cornless 
for  them,  the  hogs  rooted  away  in  the  woods  and  got 
lankier  day  by  day. 

Along  with  the  deer  and  the  hogs  another  class  of 
creatures  arose  and  swarmed  upon  the  Missouri  line. 
These  were  the  "  bushwhackers/'  a  name  full  of  mean 
ing  that  needs  little  elucidation.  When  society  comes 
to  the  boil  there  is  a  lot  of  scum  that  rises  to  the  top. 
The  bushwhackers  were  the  Missouri  scum.  Bands  of 
reckless  men  under  a  yet  more  reckless  leader  used  to 
collect  and  dash  across  the  line  into  Kansas  to  catch 
runaway  negroes  and  do  whatever  damage  they  could 
to  those  who  protected  or  harboured  the  escaped  slaves. 


BUSHWHACKERS  205 

It  was  the  counter-blast  to  the  Jay-Hawkers,  and  the 
last  effort  of  expiring  slavery. 

Among  the  leaders  who  made  for  themselves  a  name 
in  this  wild  warfare  none  was  better  known  and  none 
more  justly  feared  than  the  border  ruffian  Quantrell. 
He  came  from  no  one  knew  where,  and  he  went  no  one 
knew  whither,  but  he  left  always  a  broad  trail  of  burning 
houses  behind  him  to  show  his  path  in  Kansas.  Winter 
and  summer,  day  and  night,  sometimes  in  the  north 
near  Kansas  City,  sometimes  as  far  down  as  Fort  Scott, 
Quantrell  was  known  to  lead  his  furious  raids,  gathering 
up  negroes  and  destroying  houses  as  he  passed.  He 
never  ill  used  the  women  or  molested  young  children — 
that  is  white  women  and  children,  but  he  had  a  short 
sharp  way  with  men,  even  white  ones,  which  often  ended 
with  a  rifle  bullet.  He  rapidly  built  up  a  reputation  for 
dare-devil  bravery,  which,  combined  with  his  severity, 
soon  made  his  name  a  terror  to  all  within  reach,  and 
one  never  knew  how  far  his  reach  might  eventually  ex 
tend.  At  first  he  confined  himself  to  operations  within 
a  day's  ride  of  the  line,  but  as  his  fame  spread  and  the 
number  of  his  followers  increased  he  extended  the  area 
of  his  influence.  No  one  within  twenty  miles  of  the 
line  dared  call  himself  safe. 

The  tales  of  Quantrell  and  his  doings  spread  far  over 
the  land,  and  assuredly  lost  nothing  on  the  way  in  the 
telling.  At  the  first  hint  that  he  might  be  near  the 
negroes  took  to  the  woods  in  every  direction,  remaining 
for  days  together  cowering  down  under  the  brushwood, 
for  no  negro  who  had  ever  looked  on  the  great  bush 
whacker's  face  had  come  back  to  tell  what  Quantrell 
was  like.  If  he  could  not  carry  off  or  drive  the  negroes 
before  him  back  into  slavery  he  would  deliberately 
shoot  them.  Never,  under  any  circumstances,  did  he 
leave  a  free  negro  behind  him,  and  few  were  those  who 
managed  to  escape  out  of  his  clutches  once  he  headed 


206  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

them  toward  Missouri.  Small  wonder,  therefore,  if 
they  dreaded  him  as  the  chicken  dreads  the  hawk,  and 
that  they  should,  like  frightened  chickens,  flee  under 
cover  at  the  first  hint  of  his  presence  in  their  neighbour 
hood. 

The  name  and  fame  of  Quantrell  had,  of  course, 
reached  Carthage,  and  the  little  colony  of  negroes  who 
lived  there  under  Nancy's  sheltering  wing;  but  they 
felt  secure  in  the  distance  which  separated  them  from 
Missouri.  When  Nancy  heard  accounts  of  how  he  had 
swooped  down  and  carried  off  negroes  from  near  Law 
rence  itself,  and  taken  them  away  from  the  midst  of  a 
determined  and  well-armed  free-state  population,  she 
blessed  the  lucky  chance  which  had  brought  her  and 
them  to  Carthage  far  out  of  harm's  way.  Whenever  the 
negroes  came  to  tell  her  of  some  fresh  raid,  which  very 
certainly  lost  nothing  in  dramatic  horror  on  passing 
through  their  minds,  Nancy  would  always  say  at  the  end 
of  the  recital  how  thankful  she  was  that  they  had  Law 
rence  between  them  and  harm,  and  were  safe. 

The  negroes  themselves,  however,  did  not  feel  the 
same  sense  of  security.  Their  lives  were  one  long  dread 
and  terror  for  fear  of  being  caught  and  brought  back 
into  Missouri.  Many  a  time  as  they  sat  around  their 
fire  roasting  their  ears  of  corn  for  supper  they  would 
talk  over  the  chances  and  alarms  of  a  raid.  The  sub 
ject  seemed  to  have  a  fascination  for  them. 

"  Yo',  Sambo,  whar'll  yo'  hide  when  de  bushwhack 
ers  come  'long  hyar?  "  Pete  would  ask,  with  his  beady 
eyes  fixed  on  his  own  ear  of  corn  for  fear  that  Moses 
might  grab  it,  under  the  impression  that  it  was  a  better 
one  than  his  or  was  in  a  more  favourable  place  for 
being  thoroughly  roasted  without  burning. 

"  Dish  nigga  ain't  agwine  ter  hide,"  Sambo  replied 
with  stern  scorn. 

"  Whar  yo'  gwine  ter  git  then?  " 


BUSHWHACKERS  207 

"Fse  gwine  ter  fight,"  Sambo  answered  with  a 
thump  on  his  chest,  rolling  his  eyes  until  the  whites 
showed  all  around.  This  mightily  pleased  the  small 
darkies,  who  admired  nothing  so  much  as  courage,  of 
which  they  themselves  never  exhibited  a  trace  at  any 
moment  in  their  lives.  M'linder  admired  it,  too,  for 
whose  sole  benefit,  if  the  truth  be  told,  Sambo  was  thus 
boasting. 

"  La,  Sambo,  yo'  ain't  got  no  gun;  yo'  can't  fight 
nohow,"  M'linder  said,  belittling  his  valour.  M'linder 
was  quite  aware  of  Sambo's  admiration,  but  loved  to 
appear  to  depreciate  his  prowess,  a  peculiarity  often  ob 
served  in  women,  whatever  may  happen  to  be  the  colour 
of  their  skin. 

"  I  kin  fight  'thout  ary  gun.  Thar  ain't  nothin'  I 
can't  fight  with,"  replied  Sambo  boastfully,  "  when  I'se 
got  ladies  ter  defen'." 

"  Lawk,  how  yo'  does  run  'long!  "  said  M'linder, 
hardly  able  to  conceal  her  admiration  for  the  hero. 

"  I  jess  take  chunk  o'  wood  an'  bust  Quantrell's 
head  off  kerflop,"  exclaimed  Pete,  excited  by  all  this 
talk. 

"  Yah,  yo'  go  'long!  "  exclaimed  Aunt  Monin  scorn 
fully.  "  Young  rooster  make  mo'  racket  an'  crowin' 
dan  de  hen  dat  lay  de  egg,  but  de  ole  woman  don'  neb- 
ber  go  ter  look  whar  he's  bin  a-settin'." 

Pete  subsided  under  the  laugh  called  up  by  this 
rebuke. 

"  If  Mas'r  Heaton  he  bin  hyar,  he  done  build  up  a 
fort  an'  bring  de  sojers,"  remarked  Moses,  who  had  seen 
some  in  Tecumseh  once  and  had  never  recovered  from 
the  amazement  which  their  shiny  swords  had  created  in 
his  mind. 

"  Yo'  shet  yer  mouf ;  yo'  dunno  numn  'bout  sojers 
an'  forts  an'  fightin',"  observed  Sambo,  anxious  to  mo 
nopolize  the  talk  as  well  as  the  Admiration  of  the  circle. 


208  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

"  Fse  gwine  ter  sharpen  de  ole  axe  mighty  sharp  an' 
grin'  it  to  de  razor  edge  on  de  grin'stone." 

"Whatfo'P"  asked  Pete. 

Sambo  looked  scornfully  at  him  and  remained  con 
temptuously  silent. 

"  Speck  yo'  gwine  ter  chop  off  de  head  o'  ole  man 
Quantrell,"  said  M'linder  exultingly. 

Sambo,  as  became  a  great  hero,  said  nothing  to  this 
flattering  assumption,  but  pulled  his  ear  of  corn  from 
before  the  fire,  rubbed  a  sprinkle  of  salt  into  the  long 
luscious  rows  of  grains,  and  began  thoughtfully  to 
gnaw  at  it  with  his  strong  white  teeth.  This  was  the  sig 
nal  for  all  the  other  negroes  to  begin,  and  nothing  was 
heard  but  the  grinding  of  their  powerful  teeth,  much  as 
if  they  had  been  a  lot  of  black  ponies  at  a  feed  of  corn. 

The  slow  year  dragged  wearily  along  at  Carthage, 
and  never  since  the  day  when  he  had  closed  the  door 
on  her,  kneeling  at  Aunt  Monin's  feet,  had  Heaton 
sent  a  word  to  Nancy.  She  did  not  know  whether  he 
was  dead  or  alive.  She  did  not  even  know  where  he 
had  gone.  She  read  the  papers  with  eagerness,  and 
followed  the  lists  of  killed,  wounded,  and  missing  ac 
cording  as  they  appeared  after  the  various  battles;  at 
first  with  many  a  heartache,  wondering  what  was  the 
history  of  different  ones  whose  names  for  some  reason 
or  other  struck  her  fancy,  but  soon  this  feeling  wore  off. 
She  had  no  more  sorrow  to  expend  vaguely  on  names 
that  carried  no  personal  image  with  them.  Her  heart 
used  to  beat  wildly  when  she  came  across  the  name  of 
Heaton,  as  she  did  more  than  once,  even  when  coupled 
with  initials  not  belonging '  to  the  one  whose  fate  so 
deeply  interested  her.  Once  she  read  among  the  list  of 
wounded,  "  Captain  Charles  Heaton,  slightly,"  and  in 
the  next  list  he  appeared  as  severely  wounded,  and  she 
at  once  made  up  her  mind  that  it  was  Charlie,  and  that 
he  was  going  to  die. 


BUSHWHACKERS  209 

Of  course  Nancy  talked  to  Aunt  Monin  about  this 
new  cause  of  grief.  She  talked  to  her  about  everything. 
She  was  the  one  companion  the  young  girl  had,  but 
nothing  that  she  could  say  was  likely  to  upset  the  old 
woman's  firm  convictions  on  this  subject. 

"Mas'r  Charlie  warn't  agwine  ter  die.  He  was 
gwine  ter  come  back  to  'em.  'Cause  why?  He  was 
'p'inted  to  save  Miss  Nancy,  like  he  done  save  'em  all  in 
de  snow  in  de  winter  time." 

When  Aunt  Monin  had  once  adopted  a  particular 
theory  of  life  as  an  article  of  her  faith,  as  in  the  case  of 
other  teachers  greater  than  she,  it  was  impossible  to 
make  her  give  any  heed  to  anything  that  seemed  to  con 
flict  with  her  theories.  She  had  made  up  her  mind  on 
the  subject  of  Heaton's  return,  and  was  unvarying  in  her 
steadfast  belief.  In  her  secret  heart  Nancy  got  a  great 
deal  of  consolation  out  of  this  positiveness  of  conviction, 
and  used  frequently  to  say  things  in  order  to  draw  from 
Aunt  Monin  a  renewed  expression  of  her  belief  that 
"  Mas'r  Charlie  was  coming  home  soon  as  de  wa'  over." 
"  When  Mas'r  Charlie  come  home  from  de  wa',  he'll 
be  mad  dat  de  ole  fence  roun'  de  paster  ain't  men'ed  up," 
she  would  say  when  her  eagle  eye  detected  a  fence  rail 
broken  or  thrown  down.  "  Mas'r  Charlie  he  powerful 
'tickler,  an'  have  his  fence  mighty  peart  an'  strong,  dat 
he  is,  fo'  shu'." 

Observations  like  these  were  a  great  comfort  to 
Nancy  and  seemed  to  put  new  life  and  hope  into  her. 
Aunt  Monin's  love  for  her  honey-chile  had  taught  her 
how  best  to  comfort  and  console  her  during  these  long 
weary  months  of  anxiety  and  loneliness. 

The  cabin  which  Heaton  had  made  use  of  for  his 
dwelling  place  had  remained  unoccupied  since  he  left. 
Nancy  could  not  bear  to  let  the  negroes  have  it,  so  it  re 
mained  locked  up,  and  she  kept  the  key.  It  contained 
nothing  except  a  few  of  his  old  coats,  which  still  hung 


210  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

on  pegs  against  the  wall.  The  meagre  furniture  Nancy 
had  removed  into  her  own  house.  Aunt  Monin  ob 
jected  to  this  empty  house  remaining  unused.  When 
the  rats  got  into  the  corncrib  she  suggested  that  the 
meal  bins,  at  all  events,  should  be  put  into  that  cabin, 
for  then  the  dog  could  be  shut  up  with  them,  and  he 
would  soon  make  a  clearance  of  the  rats.  This  was  ac 
cordingly  done,  and  Nancy  still  kept  the  key  in  her  pos 
session,  all  the  more  necessary  now  since  it  didn't  do  to 
let  negroes  have  the  run  of  any  food,  even  if  it 
were  only  corn  meal;  they  were  so  wastefully  extrava 
gant  whenever  there  was  plenty. 

Somewhere  toward  the  end  of  a  very  hot  August 
John  P.  Ridgway,  who  had  been  doing  a  thriving  busi 
ness  in  the  matter  of  selling  cavalry  horses  to  the  Fed 
eral  Government,  found  himself  at  Tecumseh,  and,  re 
membering  his  friends  at  Carthage,  thought  he  would 
look  them  up.  He  had  heard  nothing  of  them  since 
some  time  in  the  spring,  when  Heaton  had  written  to 
him  about  the  coming  marriage,  and  he  had  sent  a  cor 
dial  letter  of  felicitation  in  reply.  Eiding  up  to  the  bars 
on  the  afternoon  in  question,  he  was  pleased  to  see 
Nancy  standing  in  her  doorway,  much  the  same  as  he 
had  seen  her  stand  on  that  winter's  night  six  months  be 
fore.  He  came  forward  with  a  bright  smile,  and  said, 
in  a  loud  and  hearty  voice : 

"Well,  Mrs.  Heaton,  howdy?  Getting  'long  pretty 
spry,  eh?" 

Nancy  blushed  painfully  up  to  the  roots  of  her  hair 
and  retreated  back  a  step  or  two,  without  making  any 
reply  to  this  salutation. 

Ridgway  saw  that  he  had  made  some  mistake,  but 
he  was  a  man  of  not  very  delicate  feeling,  so  he  contin 
ued,  not  one  whit  abashed: 

"Old  man  dead?  Is  he?  Dear,  dear,  I  am  sorry,  so 
I  am." 


BUSHWHACKERS  211 

"  Mas'r  Charlie  done  volunteer  f  o'  de  wa'  long  while 
back,  mas'r.  We  dunno  whar  he  be,  an'  Miss  Nancy 
Overton  she  done  live  hyar  an'  run  de  farm  all  by  her- 
se'f,"  said  Aunt  Monin,  coming  to  the  rescue  of  a  some 
what  difficult  situation.  Eidgway  gave  a  prolonged 
whistle,  then  a  good  stare  at  Nancy,  watching  the  rich 
colour  die  slowly  out  of  her  face,  leaving  it  somewhat 
wan  and  pale  looking. 

"  Well,  I  swan!  "  he  ejaculated  after  a  few  mo 
ments'  profound  meditation.  "He  wasn't  so  sot  on 
fighting  as  that.  I  never  should  have  guessed  he'd  been 
the  one  to  volunteer,  anyhow." 

"  Why  not?  "  asked  Nancy  quickly.  "  He  was  the 
first  man  to  respond  to  the  call  in  this  neighbourhood." 
There  was  a  ring  of  exultation  in  her  voice  that  did  not 
escape  her  visitor. 

"  Do  tell!  Then  he's  gone  for  the  three  years'  en 
listment,  you  bet.  The  ninety-day  men  are  back  a  good 
while.  Some  of  'em  got  enough  of  fighting  in  their 
ninety  days,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  Mr.  Heaton  will  not  come  back  until  the  war  is 
over,  and  this  sinful  blot  of  slavery  wiped  off  the  land," 
said  Nancy. 

Kidgway  looked  at  her  narrowly  from  between  his 
half-closed  eyelids. 

"  Going  to  wait  for  him?  "  he  inquired  slowly. 

"  Yes,  I  am  going  to  wait  for  him  till  he  comes 
back,"  said  Nancy,  meeting  the  look  unflinchingly  and 
replying  to  the  unmistakable  meaning  of  his  question 
in  an  unmistakable  manner. 

"  And  if  he  don't  never  come  back?  Folks  do  get 
killed  in  war,  you  know,"  continued  Eidgway,  still  look 
ing  at  her  in  the  same  intent  way. 

"  Then  I'll  wait  for  him  all  my  life,  and  we  shall 
meet  beyond  the  grave,"  replied  Nancy  with  deep  ear 
nest  voice. 


212  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

"  Well,  I  swan! "  said  Kidgway,  after  which  he  re 
lapsed  into  silence  for  some  time.  "  What  beats  me  is 
why  the  blamed  coon  volunteered/'  he  remarked  at 
length  in  a  tone  of  puzzled  commiseration.  "  He 
warn't  fond  of  fighting  I  know  for  certain.  Charlie 
Heaton  warn't  tough  enough  for  that  kind  o'  work. 
He  had  a  heap  o'  notions  'bout  right  and  wrong  and  jus 
tice  and  such  like  fooling.  Notions  only  gets  in  a 
man's  way  when  he's  a  soldier;  when  there's  fighting 
work  to  be  done  he'd  better  get  shut  o'  poetry  and  fine 
ideas,  I  can  tell  you.  Charlie  never  could  do  that.  He 
was  a  powerful  soft-hearted  fellow  for  a  Kansas  man.  I 
never  see  his  beat  for  that.  There  was  a  fellow  down  in 
Missouri  he  killed  in  a  raid.  All  fair  and  square,  you 
know — killed  him  in  front,  as  a  gentleman  should;  no 
sneaking  round  from  behind  a  tree.  And  t'other  fellow 
had  a  gun  too,  only  he  warn't  quick  enough  to  get  the 
drop  on  him.  Well,  you  wouldn't  believe,  Miss  Over- 
ton,  but  that  soft-hearted  boy  was  always  thinking 
about  that  shooting  and  grieving  over  it.  He  told  me 
the  whole  story  one  night  when  we  were  out  buffalo 
hunting  together,  and  I  did  laugh,  I  can  tell  you.  The 
idea  of  such  a  little  thing  as  that  coming  into  a  fellow's 
head  and  making  him  uneasy!  Queer,  warn't  it?  " 

When  Bidgway  looked  around  for  Nancy's  answer 
he  found,  to  his  surprise,  that  she  had  left  the  room. 
She  must  have  slipped  away  when  he  was  laughing  at 
the  recollection  of  Heaton's  absurd  notions.  Aunt 
Monin  came  to  say  that  her  young  mistress  was  suddenly 
seized  with  faintness,  and  that  she  could  not  see  him 
again.  The  young  man  was  sincerely  sorry  to  hear  this, 
and  left  many  messages  of  commiseration  with  the 
old  negress  when  he  rode  away.  He  was  sorely  puzzled 
at  the  position  of  affairs  at  Carthage,  and  when  he  had 
reached  the  rising  ground  from  which  he  had  looked 
around  him  in  the  winter  and  commented  upon  Heaton's 


BUSHWHACKERS  213 

remarkable  cuteness  he  again  pulled  up  and  surveyed 
the  scene  thoughtfully. 

"  Volunteered  in  his  wedding  week.  The  dog- 
gauned  cuss! "  he  observed.  Then,  after  a  long  look 
around  he  added:  "  And  she's  going  to  wait  for  him. 
The  darned  fools,  both!  " 

With  that  he  rode  off  to  Tecumseh  to  see  after  his 
cavalry  colts. 


CHAPTEE   XVIII 

DELENDA    EST   GARTH AGO ! 

THE  years  of  the  war  were  long,  long  years.  It 
would  be  hard  to  say  whether  the  hours  dragged  more 
slowly  for  those  left  at  home,  living  their  lives  in  anx 
ious  suspense,  or  for  the  men  at  the  front,  with  the  dan 
gers  and  fierce  excitements  of  battle  alternating  with 
the  drudgery  of  camp  life  and  the  suffering  of  the  hos 
pital  tent.  War  as  seen  from  afar  is  mainly  a  series  of 
pictorial  effects  in  illustrated  newspapers,  finished  off 
by  the  triumphant  return  of  the  battered  battalions, 
more  glorious  and  popular  in  their  rags  than  in  the 
finest  parade  smartness  of  a  birthday  review.  War,  as 
seen  at  first  hand,  presents  a  very  different  aspect. 
Happily,  no  imagination  is  vivid  enough  to  make  us 
realize  an  actual  battle,  or  even  the  details  of  a  slight 
skirmish.  The  first  sight  of  even  the  merest  fringe  of 
war  is  such  as  to  leave  an  impression  that  nothing  will 
ever  afterward  efface.  The  coldest  heart  that  ever  pul 
sated  beats  quicker  at  the  sight  of  a  regiment  marching 
to  the  front.  There  they  go  bravely  forward,  following 
their  flag  and  their  music  with  bright  eyes  gleaming  and 
heads  erect.  Poor  atoms  in  a  regiment,  how  many  of 
you  will  ever  come  back?  And  if  you  do,  will  your  eyes 
then  be  bright  and  your  gallant  heads  erect?  No.  You 
will  crawl  home,  many  of  you,  poor  maimed  creatures 
with  the  vigour  of  manhood  forever  crushed  out. 

The  war  of  the  secession  was  a  long,  fierce  struggle, 
214 


DELENDA  EST  CARTHAGO!        215 

lasting  over  months  and  years.  It  was  none  of  those 
campaigns  of  a  few  weeks  which  nowadays  are  some 
times  called  wars.  It  was  of  the  old-fashioned  fighting 
kind  of  war,  when  men  met  in  mortal  combat.  It 
was  a  bloody  war,  for  both  sides  fought  with  courage 
and  determination.  The  South  sent  up  its  men  in 
thousands  until  there  were  none  left  but  old  ones  at 
home;  and  the  North  sent  down  its  men  in  thousands, 
having  plenty  more  to  draw  from.  There  was  an  end 
less  procession  of  young  manhood  converging  on  Rich 
mond  for  years  and  years,  and  of  that  procession  only 
very  few  ever  got  safely  home  again.  Richmond  was 
like  a  furnace,  said  a  Southern  mother,  a  roaring,  raging 
furnace,  and  the  young  men  were  hurled  into  it  like 
logs  of  wood;  and  out  of  that  furnace,  when  the  great 
conflagration  was  over,  there  came  forth  but  a  few 
ashes. 

There  was  no  spot  in  all  the  wide  area  of  the  United 
States  so  remote  or  so  secluded  that  it  could  hide  itself 
away  from  the  war.  If,  happily,  it  was  far  enough  re 
moved  from  Mason  and  Dixon's  line  to  be  forever  be 
yond  sound  of  trumpet  call  and  rifle  shot,  at  least  there 
were  within  its  borders  hearts  that  throbbed  with  anx 
ious  love  for  those  at  the  front.  Every  village  and  ham 
let,  nay,  almost  every  house,  was  in  direct  communica 
tion  with  the  army  by  .the  universal  connecting  tele 
graph  of  human  love.  After  every  battle  and  every 
skirmish,  how  those  poor  human  telegraph  threads 
throbbed  with  the  anguish  of  palpitating  anxiety,  or  too 
often  with  the  certainty  of  hopeless  despair! 

Carthage,  away  off  on  the  rolling  prairie,  far  from 
any  neighbour,  set  down  there  in  the  midst  of  wild  un 
trammelled  Nature — Carthage  too  had  its  private  wire 
to  the  front,  along  which  Nancy's  heartaches  used  to 
pulsate,  as  she  nightly  prayed  for  that  dear  life  which 
was  more  than  all  the  world  to  her,  and  which  had  been 


216  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

offered  up  for  her  country's  sake.  Yet  all  the  while  life 
seemed  to  flow  smoothly  forward  for  Nancy  and  her 
little  colony  of  negroes.  At  last  she  began  to  see  that 
as  far  as  material  success  was  concerned  she  was  succeed 
ing.  Two  whole  years  had  elapsed  since  Charlie  Heaton 
had  gone  away.  It  was  spring  again,  and  Nancy  was 
full  of  the  manifold  duties  of  getting  forward  with  her 
crop.  She  understood  more  about  work  now.  She  had 
turned  the  corner  of  her  difficulties.  For  two  years  her 
seed  sowings  had  been  blessed  with  bountiful  harvest 
ings,,  and  now  the  rich  purple  prairie  soil  turned  up 
broad  acres  of  ploughed  land  to  the  life-giving  rays  of 
the  warm  spring  sunshine.  Nothing  had  begun  to 
sprout  as  yet,  but  there  was  a  sense  of  growing  in  the 
very  air.  The  first  great  bluebottle  fly  had  buzzed 
around  Nancy  as  she  stood  in  the  south  doorway,  bask 
ing  in  the  genial  warmth  of  the  sun.  She  welcomed 
him  and  rejoiced  over  his  cheerful  buzz.  One  fly  is  wel 
come  as  a  harbinger  of  spring.  When  they  come  in 
batches  of  a  million  and  a  half  at  a  time  the  welcome, 
which  would  have  been  cordial  if  concentrated  upon  a 
single  individual,  does  not  suffice  to  go  round. 

It  was  on  one  of  these  warm  spring  days,  when  the 
air  was  soft  and  the  prairie  had  just  begun  to  clothe  it 
self  in  tender  green,  that  Nancy  was  returning  home 
from  a  neighbour's  farm  some  ten  miles  away  to  the 
west  of  her  house.  She  had  been  to  get  some  water 
melon  seeds  of  a  kind  warranted  to  thrive  in  a  dry 
country,  which  she  intended  to  plant  in  generous  pro 
fusion  for  the  benefit  of  the  negroes,  who  revel  in  water 
melons.  The  days  was  bright  and  clear,  and,  as  the 
sun  was  at  her  back,  it  being  already  late  in  the  after 
noon,  she  was  able  to  see  with  singular  distinctness. 
Her  house  stood  high  up  on  the  open  prairie,  unshad 
owed  by  a  single  tree,  and  was  visible  for  miles  around. 
As  she  rode  along,  Nancy  became  aware,  when  still  some 


DELENDA  EST  CARTHAGO!         217 

three  miles  off,  that  there  was  a  certain  amount  of  move 
ment  around  the  buildings.  Dim  shadows  appeared  to 
traverse  the  brightness  of  the  house  where  the  sun  shone 
full  upon  the  western  side.  Nancy,  like  all  healthy 
Western  girls,  had  keen  sight.  Her  black  eyes  were  not 
troubled  by  following  the  crooked  and  crabbed  out 
lines  of  print,  nor  did  sitting  up  late  tend  to  dim 
their  brightness.  Therefore,  as  she  rode  homeward  she 
amused  herself  by  scrutinizing  the  houses  carefully,  try 
ing  to  make  out  what  was  going  forward  during  her  ab 
sence.  What  puzzled  her  most  was  an  occasional  bright 
flash,  as  if  some  child  were  whisking  about  a  looking- 
glass  or  somebody  were  kicking  about  tin  milk  pans 
upon  which  the  sun  was  beaming  steadily.  She  could 
not  make  it  out.  The  flashings  became  brighter  and 
more  puzzling  the  longer  she  looked  at  them. 

At  length  she  pulled  up  and  took  a  steady  sight. 
Yes,  there  were  undoubtedly  a  number  of  persons  mov 
ing  about  casting  the  puzzling  shadows.  She  was 
vexed.  It  was  unpardonable  of  the  negroes  to  leave 
their  work  and  prance  about  like  that  just  because  her 
back  was  turned.  She  felt  incensed  at  their  dishonest 
laziness;  they  had  learned  some  of  the  virtues  of  free 
dom  by  this  time,  and  should  know  better.  She  rode 
smartly  forward  for  half  a  mile  and  then  stopped  once 
more.  The  moving  figures  were  not  negroes.  They 
were  men  on  horseback,  and  in  great  numbers,  too. 
The  flashings  must  be  from  rifle  barrels  or  swords. 
Nothing  but  steel  flashed  back  the  sun's  level  rays  in 
so  vivid  a  manner. 

Soldiers!  What  were  they  doing  at  her  house? 
Nancy  wondered,  and  again  rode  forward.  The  move 
ment  ceased  around  the  house.  A  black  mass  was  col 
lecting  at  the  bars.  Somehow  they  didn't  give  the  im 
pression  of  soldiers.  There  seemed  too  much  of  a  helter- 
skelter  confusion  for  the  movements  of  trained  troops. 


218  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

They  were  riding  away.  That  was  just  as  well.  Nancy 
slackened  her  speed.  She  did  not  particularly  care  to 
meet  a  band  of  soldiers.  Sometimes  they  were  noisy 
and  not  especially  under  control,,  as,  for  instance,  that 
unruly  Irish  regiment  encamped  east  of  Tecumseh.  So 
she  loitered  along  in  order  to  let  the  men  get  clear  away 
before  she  returned.  She  would  hear  all  about  the  visit 
from  Aunt  Monin  and  the  rest  the  moment  she  got  back. 
Suddenly  she  started  in  her  saddle.  What  was  that? 
Columns  of  blue  curling  smoke  rising  from  among  the 
corn  stacks,  eddying  over  the  hayrick,  and  issuing  from 
the  windows  of  her  house. 

Nancy  laid  her  rawhide  whip  across  her  horse's  flank 
and  rode  madly  toward  the  house.  The  blue  columns 
got  thicker  and  thicker,  belching  upward  toward  the 
sky  in  heavy  spiral  masses.  Fast  and  furiously  as  she 
rode,  however,  the  flames  were  quicker  than  she  was. 
By  the  time  she  got  to  the  bars  the  flames  were  curling 
up  forty  feet  over  her  corn  stacks  and  the  wicked  red 
tongues  were  licking  the  lintel  of  the  kitchen  door, 
while  the  stable  and  henhouse  were  both  alight,  the 
maddened  fowls  flying  with  croaks  of  terror  before  the 
fierce  blaze. 

Not  a  soul  was  to  be  seen,  and  no  sound  but  the  roar 
ing  of  the  flames.  Her  frightened  horse  refused  to  pass 
the  bars  and  snorted  loudly  at  the  fearful  sight.  Tying 
him  hurriedly  to  the  fence,  Nancy  rushed  to  the  cabins, 
which  showed  as  yet  no  signs  of  fire.  The  first  she  went 
to  was  Charlie  Heaton's  long  vacant  house.  The  door 
was  burst  open,  and  a  pile  of  shucks  and  straw  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor  showed  that  the  enemy  had  been  at 
work  there  too.  The  cornshucks  had  been  set  on  fire, 
but  there  being  nothing  else  for  them  to  burn  they  had 
gone  out,  leaving  only  a  blackened  heap  of  smouldering 
ashes  behind.  These  Nancy  scattered  and  stamped  out 
with  her  feet;  then  she  went  to  the  next  cabin,  but  there 


DELENDA  EST  CARTHAGO!        219 

she  was  met  by  a  burst  of  flame.  The  work  had  been 
more  thoroughly  done,  because  the  kindling  fire  of  corn- 
shucks  had  been  supplemented  by  the  clothes  and  fur 
niture  and  bedding  in  the  house.  The  cabins  were  all 
alight,  while  the  air  was  full  of  flying,  burning  fluff 
from  the  hay  and  corn  stacks.  She  could  not  stay  in 
Heaton's  cabin  on  account  of  the  suffocating  smoke 
which  collected  in  it.  She  was  driven  to  take  refuge  in 
the  newly  ploughed  field.  The  sun  sank  below  the 
western  horizon,  and  the  darkening  evening  sky  was 
lighted  up  by  the  glare  of  the  burning  buildings. 

Hour  after  hour,  all  through  that  spring  night, 
Nancy  sat  in  the  cornfield,  watching  her  home  burn  it 
self  out  to  the  last  cinder.  The  only  building  that  re 
mained  standing  was  Heaton's  little  cabin,  and  into  this 
she  crept  in  the  gray  hours  of  the  morning,  shivering 
with  cold  and  the  exhaustion  of  those  hours  of  melan 
choly  watching.  She  huddled  Beaton's  old  working 
coat  around  herself  and  lay  down  on  the  floor,  where, 
in  sheer  misery,  she  cried  herself  to  sleep  amid  the 
blackened  ruins  of  her  house  and  home.  Hours  after 
ward  she  was  aroused  by  hearing  voices.  Frightened  at 
the  thought  of  human  beings  near  her,  she  crept  to  the 
window  and  peeped  out.  A  couple  of  men  stood  there, 
whom  she  recognised  as  settlers  from  beyond  the  creek. 
Accordingly,  she  ventured  forth  from  her  hiding  place. 

"By  gosh!  be  that  you,  Miss  Overton?  We  'lowed 
Quantrell  hed  lit  out  with  the  whole  on  yer," 

"  I  suppose  it  was  Quantrell/'  said  Nancy  wearily. 

"  You  may  lay  it  were  that  same.  Thar  ain't  nary 
'nother  ?ud  do  such  a  sight  o'  burnin'  as  him.  Thar's  a 
broad  trail  o*  burnin*  'hind  him,  anyhow.  The  all-fired 
cuss  has  lighted  a  heap  o'  houses  the  whole  way  down  to 
the  Missouri  line." 

"  All  my  negroes  are  gone  too,"  said  Nancy  with  a 
shiver.     "  Not  one  is  left,  not  even  old  Aunt  Monin." 
15 


220  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

She  fairly  broke  down  and  sobbed  aloud.  The  men 
looked  very  sorrowful. 

"  We'll  hev  to  riz  up  an'  hang  every  man  in  Missouri 
as  far  as  the  Osage,"  said  one  of  the  men,  by  way  of 
offering  the  comfort  of  revenge  to  Nancy.  "  This 
hyar  sort  o'  cavortin'  roun'  an'  burnin'  out  folks  hes  got 
ter  be  shut  down." 

"  There  are  soldiers  in  Tecumseh  and  Topeka;  why 
didn't  they  stop  Quantrell?  "  asked  Nancy,  with  the  ig 
norance  of  a  woman. 

"  Sojers,"  observed  one  of  the  men,  Wilson  by  name, 
"  ain't  much  good  for  catching  bushwhackers.  They're 
sorter  slow  an'  solemn  ter  ride  with.  They  ain't  spry 
'nough  for  that  kinder  work,  an'  they  hes  ter  git  counted 
an'  mounted  satisfact'ry,  an'  a  heap  o'  foolin'  hes  ter  be 
gone  through  'fore  they're  ready  ter  begin.  For  ter 
catch  up  with  bushwhackers  you  hes  ter  be  mighty 
limber,  an'  ready  ter  jump  inter  yer  saddle  an'  sling  up 
yer  rifle  quick  as  a  cat  can  wink  her  eye." 

"  You  bet  that's  how  it'll  have  to  be  done,  if  it  ever 
is  done,"  assented  his  companion.  "  This  here  farm  is 
'most  busted  up,  marm.  I  don't  calc'late  you'll  be  'low 
ing  to  stay  this  ways  any  more." 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  I  haven't  a  friend  that  I 
can  go  to  in  all  the  world,  and  no  money  now.  Every 
thing  is  gone,"  said  Nancy  piteously,  her  great  eyes  full 
of  tears. 

Poor  child,  it  was  hard  after  all  her  brave  attempts 
to  do  her  duty!  Destiny  was  too  strong  for  her;  she 
must  give  up.  She  grieved  for  the  destruction  of  her 
home,  around  which  her  heart  had  begun  to  twine  in  af 
fectionate  interest,  but  what  she  felt  most  deeply  was 
the  fate  of  her  negroes.  She  had  sacrificed  everything 
in  order  to  free  them  and  to  do  what  she  could  to  re 
store  to  them  the  boon  of  freedom  from  which  they  had 
been  so  long  debarred,  and  now,  just  as  success  seemed 


DELENDA  EST  CARTHAGO!        221 

to  crown  her  efforts,  came  this  crushing  blow.  They 
were  torn  away  from  her  by  a  band  of  robbers  who 
would  exult  in  their  sufferings.  They  were  now  in  the 
hands  of  the  most  relentless  enemies  of  their  race, 
and  she  who  had  loved  them  so  well  was  powerless  to 
save  them. 

Wilson  and  his  companion  tried  hard  to  induce 
Nancy  to  leave  the  blackened  ruins  of  her  home  and 
come  away  at  once  with  them.  Each  in  turn  offered  her 
his  own  horse  to  ride,  declaring  he  could  walk  easy 
enough.  She  decided  to  remain  one  day  there,  however, 
taking  shelter  in  the  one  cabin  that  was  left  among  the 
ruins  of  Carthage.  She  said  that  perhaps  her  horse 
would  come  back,  and  that  she  wanted  to  be  there  to 
catch  him.  She  referred,  of  course,  to  the  one  she  had 
tied  to  the  bars  the  evening  before,  but  who  had  broken 
loose  and  run  off  in  terror  at  the  flames.  She  said  she 
hoped  the  horse  would  come  back,  but  what  she  really 
hoped  was  that  possibly  some  of  the  negroes  might  man 
age  to  escape  from  their  captors,  in  which  case  they 
would  be  sure  to  make  for  Carthage,  and  she  wanted  to 
be  there  to  receive  them.  It  was  a  foolish,  unreasoning 
hope,  but  she  could  not  resign  herself  all  in  a  moment 
to  the  bitter  thought  of  losing  Aunt  Monin  forever. 
The  two  settlers  left  her  regretfully  after  doing  what 
little  they  could  to  make  her  comfortable.  They  made 
a  fire  for  her — there  was  plenty  of  charred  timber  about 
— and  saw  that  she  could  make  herself  some  bread,  there 
being  some  meal  left  in  the  bins.  This  done,  they  took 
their  departure,  Wilson  promising  to  come  for  her  with 
his  wagon  the  very  next  day,  when  she  would  have  to 
come  home  with  him  no  matter  whether  the  horse  had 
returned  or  not.  He  was  a  poor  man,  a  struggling  West 
ern  settler  with  few  cattle  and  a  large  family,  but  he 
told  Nancy  she  was  welcome  to  come  and  stay  at  his 
house  a  year  if  she  liked.  When  real  affliction  over- 


222  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

takes  one  there  is  nothing  can  exceed  the  sterling  kind 
ness  of  a  prairie  settler.  There  is  no  passing  by  on  the 
other  side  on  the  prairie.  When  a  traveller  has  fallen 
among  thieves  the  next  man  that  conies  along  offers 
him  help  with  the  best  heart  and  the  worst  grammar 
possible. 

Nancy  slept  that  night  on  the  floor  of  Heaton's 
cabin,  covered  by  one  of  his  old  coats.  In  the  middle 
of  the  night  her  somewhat  nervous  slumbers  were 
broken  by  the  sound  of  a  wailing  voice.  It  was  a  wild, 
unearthly  sound,  and  Nancy  started  up  full  of  alarm  in 
a  moment.  Everything  she  had  ever  heard  of  in  the 
way  of  terrors,  natural  or  supernatural,  rushed  into  her 
mind  with  exceeding  clearness.  Indeed,  she  was  in  a 
sufficiently  helpless  and  unprotected  state  to  warrant 
her  feeling  uncomfortable  at  the  thought  of  there  being 
strange  persons  about.  She  was  absolutely  alone,  half 
a  dozen  miles  from  the  nearest  neighbour,  and  without 
even  a  horse  to  carry  her  into  safety  by  flight.  She  re 
pented  of  her  determination  to  wait  for  her  negroes  at 
Carthage.  Why  had  she  been  so  mad  as  to  stay  here 
in  this  deserted  cabin?  Why  had  she  not  gone  away 
with  Wilson  into  safety  while  yet  there  was  time?  Her 
heart  thumped  in  her  throat.  She  felt  like  shrieking 
aloud  from  very  terror,  but  she  managed  to  check  the 
mad  impulse  to  do  so.  She  buried  her  head  in  Heaton's 
coat  and  kissed  the  rough  material  in  memory  of  the 
brave  heart  that  once  beat  under  its  homely  folds. 

0  Charlie,  Charlie,  if  only  you  were  here  now  to 
defend  her! 

The  wailing  cry  came  distinctly  nearer.  It  could 
not  possibly  proceed  from  an  animal,  for  it  made  articu 
late  sounds.  Nancy  crept  out  of  her  cabin,  for  it 
seemed  less  dreadful  to  meet  the  thing,  whatever  it  was, 
in  the  open  than  to  be  caught  in  a  trap  in  the  house. 
She  held  the  coat  tightly  around  her  to  try  and  smother 


DELENDA  EST  CARTHAGO!        223 

the  chattering  of  her  teeth,  which  seemed  to  her  to 
clatter  like  a  sawmill. 

A  dark  shape  flitted  among  the  shadowy  heaps  of 
blackened  ruins.  That  much  she  could  distinguish  in 
the  starlight,  and  the  crackle  of  the  cinders,  as  it  moved 
among  the  charred  beams  of  the  houses,  proved  to  her 
that  it  was  not  a  diseased  fancy  of  her  overwrought 
brain. 

By  and  bye  the  phantom  came  near  to  the  cabin, 
under  the  wall  of  which  Nancy  was  cowering  in  the 
shadow.  It  went  in,  and  all  was  silent.  Each  moment 
she  expected  to  behold  some  horrid  phantasm;  she  hard 
ly  knew  what  she  most  feared,  but  something  still  more 
dreadful  than  the  dim  and  uncertain  terror  that  was 
chilling  her  heart's  blood.  A  murmuring  sound  came 
from  the  cabin,  at  first  faint  and  indistinct,  like  the  dis 
tant  sough  of  wind  in  the  pine  trees.  Then  this 
changed  into  a  woman's  droning  voice  singing  over  and 
over  the  same  words: 

"  Mas'r  Charlie  done  gone  ter  de  war, 
We  won't  nebber  see  him  no  rno' ! 
De  tree  frog  sing  on  his  grave, 
'Way  done  in  ole  Virginny,  oh !  " 

Nancy  knew  that  chant  well  enough,  because  ever 
since  Heaton  went  away  the  negroes  were  in  the  habit 
of  singing  it  every  now  and  then,  particularly  after 
hearing  that  there  had  been  a  battle  anywhere  in  which 
he  might  be  presumed  to  have  been  engaged.  Evi 
dently  here  was  one  of  her  negroes  back  again,  and  in 
stead  of  welcoming  her  with  joy,  Nancy  was  shivering 
with  fright  outside  the  house. 

"  Is  that  you,  Melinda?  "  asked  the  young  girl,  going 
to  the  door  and  waiting  at  the  threshold.  The  singer 
instantly  stopped  her  song  on  hearing  herself  addressed, 
but  did  not  reply.  This  puzzled  Nancy,  but  when  the 


224:  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

doleful  ditty  was  immediately  resumed  she  concluded  it 
was  the  crazy  mulatto  woman. 

"  Susannah,  where  have  you  come  from?  "  she  asked 
in  the  hope  of  learning  something  about  the  rest  of  the 
negroes. 

"  0  Susannah,  don't  yer  cry,"  was  all  the  answer 
she  got,  and  this  being  a  well-known  revival  hymn  did 
not  advance  matters  much  further  toward  a  mutual 
understanding. 

Guided  by  the  voice,  she  groped  her  way  to  where 
the  woman  sat  crooning  to  herself,  and  laid  her  hand  on 
the  face  of  the  singer,  but  beyond  kissing  the  hand  she 
made  no  reply.  The  young  girl  nestled  up  to  the 
woman,  deriving  comfort  from  the  companionship  of 
even  a  crazy  negress,  so  lonely  and  desolate  was  she. 
She  longed  to  get  some  information  from  her  concern 
ing  the  fate  of  the  others,  but,  knowing  from  expe 
rience  how  useless  would  be  the  attempt,  she  sat 
silent  until  the  singer  grew  tired  of  the  sound  of  her 
own  voice. 

"  Where's  Aunt  Monin?  "  she  asked  suddenly  in  the 
hope  of  rousing  the  torpid  brain.  The  effect  was  not 
what  she  had  anticipated.  The  answer  came  at  once, 
clear  and  unfaltering,  in  Aunt  Monin's  own  voice  and 
words: 

"  Honey-chile,  don't  yo'  go  for  ter  'sgress  'gin  de 
will  o'  de  Lo'd.  Yo'  bide  de  time  o'  de  Lo'd  an'  wait  in 
'mility  for  de  day  o'  grace."  Nancy  was  electrified,  and 
starting  up  she  said,  eagerly:  "  Aunt  Monin,  is  it  you? 
Tell  me.  Tell  your  own  chile  is  it  you,  or  is  it  a 
spirit  come  to  mock  me?"  She  was  in  the  greatest 
distress  and  agitation.  Her  companion,  however,  took 
not  the  slightest  notice  of  her,  but  began  again  to 
wail  that  dirge  about  Mas'r  Charlie  and  his  grave.  This 
was  too  much  for  Nancy's  overstrained  nerves;  she 
sobbed  aloud.  The  eerie  singer  took  no  notice,  but 


DELENDA  EST  CARTHAGO!        225 

wailed  and  sang,  and  sang  and  wailed  the  whole  of  the 
night. 

At  the  first  streak  of  dawn  Nancy  pulled  her  out  into 
the  open  air  to  examine  her  features,  for  the  similarity 
of  voice  and  expression  had  been  so  bewilderingly  like 
Aunt  Monin  that  she  could  not  feel  sure  which  of  the 
two  had  come  back  to  her  through  the  darkness  and  the 
night.  Aunt  Monin  was  jet  black,  and  would  not  have 
been  visible  at  all  in  the  faint  morning  light,  so  when 
Nancy  discerned  a  face  before  her  she  knew  it  was  the 
mulatto  woman,  whose  yellow  features  were  already  be 
coming  visible. 

"  Susannah,  why  do  you  talk  like  Aunt  Monin?  " 
she  asked  sternly. 

"  Jess  put  yer  trus'  in  de  Lo'd.  He  guide  yo'  outer 
de  Ian'  o'  wil'erness  an'  'struction.  Look  befo'  yo', 
honey-chile,  in  hope  an'  faith,  an'  don'  nebber  look  be- 
hin',"  answered  Susannah,  but  the  imitation,  though 
still  remarkable,  was  less  startling  than  in  the  dark, 
when  it  appeared  to  Nancy  like  magic.  The  name  of 
Aunt  Monin  seemed  to  have  the  power  of  projecting 
some  of  her  thoughts  and  expressions  on  poor  Susan 
nah's  confused  brain,  for  whenever  Nancy  repeated  it  to 
her  she  was  sure  to  say  something  similar  to  what  Aunt 
Monin  used  to  say  upon  all  and  every  occasion.  As  for 
giving  the  faintest  clew  about  what  had  happened,  she 
was  totally  unable  to  do  so. 

"Is  Aunt  Monin  gone?"  asked  Nancy,  hoping  to 
gather  some  crumbs  of  information  from  the  outburst 
the  name  would  cause. 

"  I'se  gwine  down  inter  Egyp',  inter  de  Ian'  o'  bond 
age,  an'  my  eyes  sha'n't  nebber  see  de  honey-chile  no 
mo',  but  de  han'  o'  de  Lo'd  'stain  her  an'  pertec'  her  in 
de  hours  o'  'fliction,"  replied  Susannah,  and  Nancy 
wept. 

The  sun  rose  unclouded  over  the  heap  of  blackened 


226  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

ruins  where  once  had  stood  Carthage,  and  in  the  dis 
tance  across  the  twinkling  dewy  grass  came  a  white- 
covered  wagon  shining  in  the  morning  light.  It  was 
Wilson,  who  started  before  dawn  to  come  and  fetch 
Nancy  to  where  she  would  be  safe  among  friends. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

SLAVE   DRIVING 

SAMBO  had  often  rehearsed  an  imaginary  attack  by 
Quantrell,  in  resisting  which  he,  Sambo,  would  per 
form  prodigies  of  valour  with  his  razor-edged  axe.  The 
subject  indeed  was  a  favourite  one  with  him,  both  for 
boastful  talk  and  still  more  bumptious  private  imagin 
ings.  When  the  attack  really  came,  however,  Sambo 
was  utterly  overwhelmed  and  cut  but  a  sorry  figure, 
like  many  another  boaster  occupying  a  more  exalted 
position  than  that  poor  darky  at  Carthage. 

It  happened  in  this  wise. 

He  was  drawing  in  the  last  loads  of  fodder  out  of 
the  field  where,  according  to  prairie  custom,  it  had  re 
mained  in  stacks  during  the  winter,  and  was  standing  on 
the  top  of  his  load,  while  Pete  and  Moses  pitched  up 
the  long  and  heavy  sheaves  to  him.  This  was  charac 
teristic  of  negro  work.  The  strongest  man  takes  the 
lightest  end  of  the  log  and  uses  his  superiority  to  force 
the  weaker  ones  to  save  him  labour.  Sambo  was  of 
course  much  stronger  than  either  Pete  or  Moses,  and 
pitching  up  heavy  sheaves  of  Indian  cornstalks  is  far 
heavier  work  than  merely  arranging  them  on  the 
wagon.  Accordingly,  Sambo  arranged  them,  and  Pete 
and  Moses  pitched  for  dear  life.  As  he  was  thus  stand 
ing  on  the  top  of  his  fodder,  urging  the  small  boys  to 
greater  exertion  and  taking  his  own  task  very  easily, 
he  looked  around  him  in  a  leisurely  manner.  By  and 

227 


228  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

bye  he  observed  several  horsemen  on  the  south  side  of 
the  farm,,  and  by  a  strange  coincidence  a  couple  more 
seemed  to  be  making  for  the  bars  on  the  north  side.  It 
was  a  very  unusual  occurrence  to  see  so  many  people  in 
that  remote  neighbourhood. 

As  Nancy  was  away,  Sambo  felt  it  incumbent  on 
him  to  do  the  civil  by  all  visitors.  Therefore  he  hopped 
nimbly  down  off  his  wagon  and  ran  to  the  bars,  leav 
ing  Pete  and  Moses  to  mop  their  steaming  brows  and 
throw  themselves  on  the  ground  to  rest. 

"  SaJ>  you  darky,  ole  man  to  home?  "  hailed  one  of 
the  horsemen  from  the  bars. 

"No,  sar;  dar  ain't  nobuddy  hyar  'ccpt  we  cullod 
pussons,"  replied  Sambo  in  his  grandest  manner.  He 
visibly  swelled  out  with  pride,  and  stood  affably  grinning 
at  the  two  horseman.  One  of  them  laughed  aloud  at 
the  answer,  and  made  some  remark  to  his  companion,  at 
the  same  time  throwing  him  a  coil  of  fine  rope  which 
the  latter  cast  over  his  saddle  horn.  The  first  speaker 
then  turned  his  horse's  head  and  galloped  off  toward 
the  gully,  a  small' valley  where  the  grass  grew  long  and 
the  cattle  love  to  hide.  Sambo  stood  a  few  paces  inside 
the  bars,  prepared  to  do  the  polite  should  occasion  arise. 
As  soon  therefore  as  the  first  horseman  had  ridden  away, 
he  said  to  the  one  who  remained  behind: 

"  Gwine  ter  'light  an'  water  up  yer  critter?  " 

"Yaas,  I  reckon  Pll  'light  a  while.  Jess  let  down 
them  bars." 

Sambo  came  forward  with  alacrity,  and  as  he  stooped 
to  lower  the  topmost  rail  to  the  ground  he  heard  a  slight 
whir  about  his  ears  as  something  dropped  on  his  shoul 
ders.  He  put  up  his  hands  to  feel  what  it  was  and  re 
ceived  a  smart  chuck  under  his  chin  which  nearly  sent 
him  off  his  feet.  There  was  a  rope  around  his  neck — 
a  rope  with  a  running  noose  at  one  end  and  the  other 
end  in  the  hand  of  the  man  on  horseback. 


SLAVE  DRIVING  220 

u  Don't  yer  holler  or  I'll  hang  yer  right  plumb  hyar 
to  the  horn  o'  my  saddle,  by  thunder!  "  remarked  he, 
with  another  suggestive  chuck  to  the  rope.  Sambo's 
jaw  dropped  and  he  turned  green  with  terror. 

"  No,  mas'r,"  he  faltered,  trying  to  ease  his  neck 
with  a  twist. 

"  Now  then,  yo'  nigger,  let  down  them  bars  mighty 
peart,  or  yo'll  be  riz  oft'  yer  feet." 

Sambo  took  down  the  bars  with  speed,  finding  it 
difficult  to  breath  with  that  fearful  rope  about  his  neck. 
A  loud  noise  attracted  his  attention,  and,  rolling  his 
eyes  around,  he  beheld  a  troop  of  men  gallop  up  out  of 
the  gully. 

"  Got  yer  colt  hitched  up?"  asked  one  of  the  new 
comers  with  a  laugh. 

"  Yaas;  an'  he's  as  gentle  as  a  lamb,  you  bet.  Look 
hyar.  Gee!  haw!  "  said  Sambo's  captor,  imitating  the 
words  used  in  driving  oxen,  and  at  the  same  time  jerk 
ing  in  the  rope.  Of  course  Sambo  came  up  quickly  with 
the  jerk.  All  the  men  laughed. 

"  That  colt's  broke  in  mighty  quick,  anyhow,"  said 
one  of  them  with  gusto. 

"  Git  now,  an'  scoop  up  the  balance  o'  the  black 
cusses,  so  we  can  make  tracks  'fore  the  word  is  passed," 
observed  the  man  with  the  lasso,  who  seemed  to  be  in 
command  of  the  party.  They  moved  forward,  Sambo 
close  alongside  of  his  captor  in  the  front  rank,  and  in 
this  humiliating  position  he  came  up  to  the  door  of  the 
house  and  was  confronted  by  M'linder  standing  there 
open-mouthed. 

"  Lordy,  Sambo,  whar  yo'  gwine  tied  up  like  dat 
ar?  "  she  asked  in  amazement. 

"We're  Quantrell's  men,"  was  the  dread  reply. 
"  Any  nigger  tryin'  to  break  'way  'ull  git  a  bullet 
through  him;  any  woman  'ull  git  a  lariat  rope  roun'  her 
neck  like  this  hyar  nigger,  an'  'ull  have  to  go  afoot  'way 


230  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

down  to  the  Missouri  line.     Now  yo'll  know  what  yer 
has  to  expect  from  yer  new  masters." 

The  negroes  shrunk  together  as  the  men  dismounted 
and  rapidly  examined  the  premises.  No  one  but  Aunt 
Monin  said  a  single  word.  The  rest  accepted  their 
destiny  in  silence.  They  knew  Quantrell's  name  only 
too  well,  and  they  also  knew  the  character  of  his  men 
too  well  to  risk  angering  them  in  any  way.  Aunt  Monin, 
however,  faced  the  men  dauntlessly. 

"  What  fo'  yo'  come  hyar  to  dish  hyar  house?  We's 
all  free  niggas,  we  is.  Our  mistress,  what  own  us  all 
down  in  Missouri,  she  done  sot  us  free.  De  slave  owner 
kin  do  what  he  likes  wid  his  slaves/'  she  said  valiantly, 
bringing  forward  all  her  powers  of  argument. 

'  There  ain't  no  free  niggers  anywheres  in  sight  o' 
Quantrell  an'  his  men.  Git  'long,  granny.  Yer  boun' 
for  Dixie's  land,  anyhow/'  was  the  answer  she  received. 
"Yo'll  riz  up  all  de  free-state  men  from  here  to 
Lawrence  an'  git  'em  a'ter  yo',"  she  said,  falling  back 
upon  threats. 

"Quantrell  an'  his  men  ain't  skeered  o'  free-state 
men  an'  Lawrence.  They're  goin'  to  wipe  out  the  whole 
o'  the  dog-gauned  set  o'  cussed  ab'lishionists." 

Neither  reasoning  nor  threat  was  of  any  avail.  Aunt 
Monin  was  bundled  along  and  forced  to  mount  up  be 
hind  one  of  the  riders,  just  as  the  other  negroes  were, 
not  excepting  Susannah,  who  lifted  up  her  voice  in 
song,  and,  inappropriately  enough,  began  to  chant 
"Glory,  halleluiah!  we's  boun'  fo'  de  promise'  Ian'." 
The  fodder  was  pitched  out  of  the  wagon,  where  Pete 
and  Moses  had  loaded  it  up  with  such  excessive  expendi 
ture  of  muscle  and  energy,  and  into  it  were  packed  those 
two  astonished  darkies  and  the  rest  of  the  children,  to 
gether  with  such  valuables  as  the  men  upon  hasty  sur 
vey  deemed  it  advisable  to  steal,  and  then  the  wagon 
was  sent  off  at  a  quick  trot. 


SLAVE  DRIVING  231 

A  man  who  had  hitherto  remained  somewhat  apart 
now  rode  up  and  inquired  in  a  sharp  voice: 

"  Ready  there,  are  you  ?  " 

"  You  bet  it's  ready.  Dry  as  lightwood.  Will  burn 
like  pitch/'  was  the  answer. 

"  Then  fire  up  and  march/'  said  the  man,  who  was 
evidently  the  leader  of  the  gang.  He  rode  rapidly  on 
toward  the  front  and  passed  Aunt  Monin  sitting  behind 
her  horseman.  She  started  as  she  beheld  his  face. 

"  De  Lo'd  is  lookin'  down  on  yo',  Mas'r  J  eemes," 
she  said  in  a  loud  voice,  "  an'  he  sees  dish  hyar  de  worse 
day's  work  yo'  ebber  done  in  all  yer  life." 

"  Choke  that  old  hag  and  throw  her  body  down  the 
well  to  poison  the  water  rats,"  said  the  man  savagely. 
"  I'll  not  have  cackling  niggers  here,  and  she's  too  old 
to  fetch  more  than  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  anywhere. 
It  ain't  worth  while  toting  her  South." 

"  Shut  up,  granny.  He's  all-fired  mad  at  jabbering 
niggers,  and  he'll  do  what  he  says,  by  thunder." 

"  You  bet! "  said  Aunt  Monin's  own  cavalier. 
"  Quantrell  he's  drowned  a  heap  o'  ole  niggers  as  was 
kinder  in  his  way.  This  coon  don't  like  that  sorter 
work.  They  screeches  awful.  Pesky  critters  to  screech 
is  nigger  women  when  y'er  chuckin'  'em  under  to  drown. 
They  jess  lay  holt  on  yer  and  sticks  like  pitch  plaster." 

Perceiving  from  these  remarks  the  character  of  the 
men  who  had  captured  them,  Aunt  Monin  deemed  it 
wise  to  hold  her  tongue,  and  so  the  troop  rode  away  just 
as  Nancy  was  congratulating  herself  upon  the  departure 
of  what  she  thought  might  be  a  lot  of  unruly  Irish  sol 
diers. 

Quantrell's  band  rode  hard  and  did  not  draw  rein 
until  late  in  the  night,  when  they  got  into  the  timber 
land  at  Rock  Creek.  Here  they  were  joined  by  another 
contingent  with  a  swarm  of  recaptured  slaves.  Evi 
dently  it  was  a  big  raid,  and  they  had  collected  a  lot  of 


232  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

booty.  Keeping  clear  of  the  settlements,  they  made  for 
the  line  in  a  southeasterly  direction  toward  Black  Jack. 
The  luckless  Sambo,  tied  by  the  neck,  was  driven  in 
front  of  the  group,  and  was  obliged  to  run  for  fear  of 
the  horses  stepping  on  him.  For  fifteen  miles  on  a 
warm  spring  day,  with  the  sun  beating  on  his  head,  that 
hapless  negro  had  to  run,  veritably  for  his  life,  and  his 
terror  and  struggles  formed  a  source  of  never-ending 
amusement  to  his  brutal  captors.  At  last  he  went 
raving  mad,  foamed  at  the  mouth,  cursed  and  swore, 
and  dashed  himself  about  until  the  rope  tore  the  skin 
off  his  neck  and  shoulders  and  he  presented  a  frightful 
aspect,  covered  with  blood  and  his  wild  eyes  rolling  in 
his  head.  Seeing  that  his  market  value  was  likely  to 
be  depreciated,  Quantrell  at  length  ordered  him  to  be 
placed  in  one  of  the  wagons,  and  the  men  were  deprived 
of  an  agreeable  sort  of  sport.  Susannah,  whose  mental 
deficiency  had  been  soon  discovered,  was  set  down  on 
the  road  a  few  miles  from  Carthage. 

"  Crazy  niggers  ain't  no  more  use  than  dead  ones," 
said  Quantrell.  "  Turn  her  loose." 

One  of  the  men  suggested  firing  at  her  as  she  ran, 
and  had  actually  unslung  his  rifle  preparatory  to  in 
dulging  in  a  little  moving-target  practice,  when  Quan 
trell  sternly  bade  him  put  up  his  gun. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  waste  good  powder  and 
ball  for  on  such  infernal  fooling?  Don't  you  guess  we 
may  have  more  than  enough  to  do  with  our  powder 
before  we  quit  Kansas?  '"' 

The  fellow,  who  was  a  young  one  out  on  his  first 
ride,  looked  much  abashed  at  receiving  such  a  public 
rebuke  from  so  famous  a  leader,  and  slunk  into  the  rear 
to  hide  his  mortification.  Although  the  raiders  kept 
clear  of  the  settlements,  they  passed  some  isolated  dwell 
ings  and  were  seen  by  various  people  as  they  rode  along. 
So  large  and  imposing  a  body  could  hardly  escape  notice 


SLAVE  DRIVING  233 

even  on  the  prairie.  The  news  of  their  presence  soon 
spread  in  spite  of  their  fast  riding.  It  was  somewhere 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Black  Jack  that  a  doddering 
old  man,  riding  a  sorry-looking  mule,  joined  them.  He 
seemed  much  delighted  at  finding  himself  on  the  same 
road  as  so  grand  a  company,  and  asked  innumerable 
questions  as  to  where  they  were  going  to  settle.  He 
"  'lowed  they'd  got  a  sight  o?  land  somewheres  roun' 
as  'ud  take  such  a  power  o'  hands  to  till."  In  short,  he 
was  so  loquacious  and  so  foolishly  simple  that  some  of 
the  young  men  began  to  get  some  fun  out  of  him.  They 
worked  upon  his  terrors  by  all  sorts  of  tales,  and  finally 
wound  up  by  declaring  they  shouldn't  wonder  if  they 
lighted  on  Quantrell  in  the  course  of  the  day. 

At  the  mention  of  the  dreaded  name  the  old  man 
begged  them  to  take  him  along  with  them  and  save  him 
from  the  great  guerrilla  chief.  When  they  rallied  him 
on  his  fears  he  began  to  boast  in  the  most  outrageous 
manner  of  how  he  could  fight,  and  then  would  sink  into 
a  limp  state  of  trepidation  at  the  merest  hint  thrown  out 
by  one  of  the  men  that  Quantrell  was  at  Bloomington, 
and  might  be  expected  to  come  that  way.  In  short,  the 
old  man  was  rare  sport,  and  even  the  stern-faced  leader, 
Quantrell  himself,  relaxed  into  more  than  one  smile  at 
the  silliness  of  this  crazy  old  man  on  the  dejected  mule. 

He  rode  with  them  the  rest  of  the  day,  and  even 
camped  with  them  at  night  in  the  woods  of  Blue  Creek. 
He  seemed  much  delighted  with  the  noise  and  confusion 
of  picketing  out  the  horses  and  the  general  scrimmage 
that  arises  when  people  camp  for  the  night.  He  wan 
dered  around  mumbling  to  himself,  nobody  paying  the 
slightest  heed  to  him.  Thus,  when  it  was  quite  dark, 
he  stumbled  in  among  the  negro  men,  who  were  huddled 
together,  tied  with  ropes,  and  somewhat  insufficiently 
guarded  by  a  few  sentries  who  had  no  light  by  which 
to  see  their  prisoners.  The  only  fire  of  the  camp  was 


234  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

at  a  little  distance,  and  was  for  the  comfort  of  the  white 
men  of  the  party.  So  the  silly  old  man  sat  down  with 
the  negroes  in  the  dark,  while  the  mules  and  horses,  and 
the  men,  and  the  women  and  children  made  consider 
able  noise  among  them,  so  that  nobody  heard  him  as 
he  softly  whispered  something  in  the  ears  of  the  bound 
prisoners — words  that  sounded  to  them  like  the  silver 
trumpet  of  an  angel,  nor  did  the  sentries  perceive  that 
he  was,  with  a  razorlike  knife,  cutting  across  the  ropes 
that  tied  the  men  together.  He  had  thus  liberated  some 
nine  full-grown  negro  men  when  he  slipped  quietly  off 
into  the  bush  still  unnoticed  by  anybody  at  all.  In  a 
few  minutes  the  woods  rang  with  a  series  of  the  most 
appalling  war  whoops  that  ever  chilled  a  settler's  heart, 
followed  by  howls  and  shrieks,  as  if  fifty  men  were  butch 
ering  fifty  more  with  every  refinement  of  cruelty.  The 
camp  was  instantly  in  an  uproar.  Shots  were  fired  all 
round  in  the  seeming  direction  of  the  noises.  Some  of 
the  mules  were  thus  hit,  and  they  squealed  and,  break 
ing  their  lariat  ropes,  bounded  off,  bursting  through  the 
horses  and  setting  them  mad  with  fright.  The  shoot 
ing,  the  shouting,  the  plunging  and  rearing,  lasted  sev 
eral  minutes,  making  a  most  tremendous  noise,  as  if  a 
battle  was  in  progress.  When  the  mad  confusion  had 
subsided  it  was  discovered  to  the  wild  amazement  of 
everybody  that  all  the  able-bodied  negroes  had  utterly 
disappeared,  no  one  knew  when,  no  one  knew  whither. 

The  old  man  too  was  gone,  but  this  fact  did  not  re 
ceive  any  notice  in  the  confusion  of  the  supposed  night 
attack.  Indeed  he  was  quite  forgotten,  as  other  and 
more  important  matters  claimed  everybody's  attention. 
He  was  only  remembered  when,  on  saddling  up  in  the 
early  morning,  something  odd  was  found  to  be  fastened 
to  the  halter  of  Quantrell's  horse,  which,  upon  exami 
nation,  proved  to  be  the  long  and  venerable  beard  worn 
by  that  crazy  old  man. 


SLAVE  DRIVING  235 

"  He  was  a  spy,  by  thunder! "  exclaimed  Quantrell 
furiously,  when  it  dawned  upon  him  that  he  had  been 
made  a  fool  of.  "  A  damned  Yankee  spy,  that's  what  he 
was,  and  I  never  scented  it  time  enough  to  shoot  him." 

After  this  the  raiders  hurried  forward  as  fast  as  they 
could,  for  the  news  of  their  whereabouts  could  not  re 
main  secret,  and  Kansas  men  would  be  arming  for  the 
pursuit.  Once  over  the  line,  they  scattered  in  all  direc 
tions,  so  that  the  trail  might  be  lost.  The  young  men 
who  had  joined  for  the  fun  of  the  thing  rode  home  as 
rapidly  as  possible,  thanking  their  stars  that  they  had 
come  back  with  whole  hides  out  of  Kansas;  and  the  old 
hands,  who  made  a  business  of  raiding,  hurried  off  their 
band  of  recaptured  slaves  toward  the  Arkansas  border 
with  a  view  to  getting  them  South  as  fast  as  possible. 
Straight  south  they  rode,  keeping  well  inside  the  Mis 
souri  line,  along  that  track  of  derelict  land  where  the 
hogs  were  toiling  for  their  scanty  subsistence.  They  had 
got  as  far  as  Papinsville  on  their  southern  march  when 
Aunt  Monin  was  taken  most  violently  ill.  Her  suffer 
ings,  to  judge  by  her  lamentations,  must  have  been  acute 
in  the  extreme.  Her  shrieks  and  cries  filled  the  cabin 
where  the  negroes  were  shut  up  for  the  night,  and  in  the 
morning  when  the  time  came  to  move  forward,  as  it  did 
very  early  in  the  dim  light,  she  was  rigid,  with  eyes  rolled 
inside  out  and  mouth  foaming.  A  terrible  spectacle 
indeed.  One  of  the  men  in  charge  of  the  captives  gave 
her  a  smart  kick,  which  failed  to  create  any  effect  or  to 
arouse  her  in  the  least. 

"  That  ole  nigger's  jess  'bout  bust  up,"  he  remarked 
to  his  pal.  "  'Tain't  no  sorter  use  loiterin'  roun'  'count 
o'  her."  So  he  reported  the  old  nigger  woman  as  dead, 
and  the  party,  with  the  rest  of  the  captives,  moved  off. 
Aunt  Monin's  recovery  dated  from  the  moment  that  she 
became  aware  she  was  quite  alone.  She  sat  up  and 
peered  around  her.  She  stood  up,  and  finally  shook  her 
16 


236  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

vigorous  old  fist  in  the  direction  in  which  the  slave 
catchers  had  disappeared,  saying: 

"  Aha,  yo'  ole  thief,  yo'  ain't  nowheres  so  cute  as 
ole  Aunt  Monin.  Yo'  'low  yo's  mighty  peart  for  shu', 
on'y  yo'  can't  see  nuffin  'cept  yer  ole  red  nose.  Bah! 
I  spit  on  yo',  I  does." 

Whereupon  she  stalked  out  of  the  hut  completely 
recovered  from  the  terrifying  fits  that  had  held  grip  of 
her  all  during  the  night.  Clearly  Aunt  Monin  was  a 
very  vigorous  old  woman  both  in  mind  and  body. 


CHAPTEE   XX 

THE   TASK    OF   SISYPHUS 

THE  education  gained  in  life  on  a  slave  plantation  is 
not  one  calculated  to  teach  helpfulness  and  self-reliance. 
There  are  too  many  hands  whose  bounden  duty  it  is  to 
lighten  the  load  on  the  shoulders  of  master  and  mistress 
for  such  shoulders  to  gain  very  sturdy  proportions. 
Nancy  suffered  from  the  defects  of  her  education,  and 
those  defects  were  only  in  part  corrected  by  the  natural 
force  of  her  character  and  the  energy  which  was  derived 
from  her  great  pride.  She  was  an  exceedingly  proud 
girl,  one  who  writhed  under  a  sense  of  obligation,  unless 
indeed  it  was  toward  some  person  whom  she  loved. 
Then  her  very  pride  it  was  that  taught  her  a  sweet  hu 
mility,  as  though  she  could  show  no  greater  proof  of  her 
love  than  in  subduing  that  pride  and  being  the  gentle 
recipient  of  favours  from  the  beloved  hand. 

Pride  is  of  many  complexions,  and  the  ways  in  which 
it  expresses  itself  are  without  number.  The  pride  of 
the  poor  Southerner,  pinched  for  money,  out  at  the 
elbows,  was  a  source  of  never-failing  derision  to  the 
keen,  successful  Yankee,  full  of  commerical  prosperity. 
To  the  self-made  man  there  is  nothing  so  contemptible 
as  the  pride  that  is  founded  upon  anything  but  individ 
ual  exertion  and  the  results  thereof.  The  Southerners 
had  made  no  very  signal  exertion  until  the  war  of  seces 
sion,  and  they  had  therefore  to  fall  back  upon  the  pride 
of  having  ancestors  and  the  accumulated  succession  of 

237 


238  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

ideas  to  be  derived  from  that  circumstance.  The  self- 
made  man,  of  course,  has,  so  to  speak,  no  ancestors,  or 
only  such  as  serve  the  purpose  of  a  dark  background  of 
failure  to  show  up  all  the  more  vividly  the  bright  lights 
of  his  own  subsequent  success  in  life.  The  pride,  how 
ever,  of  the  ruined  Southerner,  relying  for  its  exist 
ence  on  a  misty  but  distinguished  line  of  forefathers,  is 
of  the  same  quality  of  mind  as  that  of  the  aggressive 
Yankee,  counting  up  his  swelling  millions  and  rejoicing 
in  his  cuteness  in  having  been  able  to  create  them.  The 
mere  outsider  may  be  pardoned  if  he  fails  to  see  much 
to  deride  in  the  former  or  to  extol  in  the  latter. 

In  the  first  hours  of  her  desolation  and  terror  after 
her  home  was  burned  Nancy  was  willing  to  be  helped  by 
any  kindly  soul  who  would  bestow  succour.  When  driv 
ing  away  in  Wilson's  wagon  toward  his  house  she  ex 
perienced  nothing  but  a  sense  of  comfort  and  security 
at  being  near  a  man  ready  and  able  to  protect  her.  Wil 
son,  moreover,  was  a  kindly  hearted,  fatherly  sort  of 
man  who  seemed  to  take  an  interest  in  her,  and  he  did 
not  season  that  interest  with  the  bitter  salt  of  adverse 
criticism  for  past  failures  to  do  the  right  thing,  after 
the  manner  of  so  many  well-meaning  people,  who  there 
by  implant  a  sense  of  exasperation  in  the  hearts  of 
those  whom  they  wish  to  befriend.  Nancy  was  thank 
ful  to  him  for  coming  to  her  in  her  adversity,  and  for 
the  moment  she  could  think  of  nothing  but  of  the  re 
lief  of  getting  to  his  house,  where  she  would  be  safe  and 
could  rest. 

This  feeling  lasted  during  the  ten-mile  drive  to  the 
Wilsons'  home,  but  it  rapidly  gave  place  to  another  feel 
ing  when  she  saw  Mrs.  Wilson,  a  kind-hearted,  sour- 
tongued  woman,  whose  nerves  were  as  unstrung  as  over 
work,  poor  health,  and  many  children  could  make  them. 
She  had  been  much  concerned  at  the  account  her  hus 
band  had  given  her  of  Nancy's  misfortune,  and  she  was 


THE  TASK  OF  SISYPHUS  239 

quite  prepared  to  show  a  thankful  spirit  to  Providence 
for  sparing  her  home  from  the  raiders  in  the  tangible 
form  of  kindness  to  Nancy.  But  gratitude  to  Provi 
dence,  Mrs.  Wilson  opined,  did  not  include  hospitality 
toward  Nancy's  black  servant,  as  she  chose  to  consider 
Susannah,  whose  unexpected  arrival  brought  into 
prominence  rather  the  sour  tongue  than  the  kind  heart. 

"  Land  sakes,  Darius,  you  don't  tell  me  there's  a 
black  woman  come  'long  too !  "  she  observed  to  her  hus 
band  in  clear  thin  tones  that  were  perfectly  audible  to 
the  newly  arrived  guest.  Nancy's  pride  received  a  stab 
through  and  through.  She  almost  gasped. 

"  'Pears  like  as  if  there  must  be  a  sight  o'  useless 
folks  round  in  the  world  if  them  as  is  homeless  has 
servants  to  wait  on  their  poverty,"  she  added,  apparently 
to  the  long-enduring  Darius,  but  in  effect  to  Nancy. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  be  a  burden,  Mrs.  Wilson,"  began  the 
young  girl,  the  hot  colour  flooding  her  pale  cheeks  as 
she  spoke,  "  but " 

"  You  ain't  a  mite  o'  burden,"  broke  in  her  hostess, 
smitten  in  her  heart  and  laying  strong  emphasis  upon 
the  personal  pronoun.  "  I  was  only  saying  as  I  don't 
guess  coloured  folks  is  much  use,  anyhow,"  which,  it 
may  be  noted,  was  not  in  the  least  what  Mrs.  Wilson  had 
really  said.  Apologies,  however,  should  not  be  too 
closely  analyzed  lest  they  fall  to  pieces  under  the  pro 
cess. 

"  Wai,  wal,"  said  Wilson  with  much  cheeriness,  for 
he  was  in  the  habit  of  sweetening  his  wife's  remarks, 
knowing  how  much  they  needed  it,  "  guess  we're  all 
pretty  tol'ble  hungry,  wifle.  Can't  you  scare  up  some 
sort  o'  fixin's  to  eat  an'  don't  wait  for  dinner?  Dinner, 
'cordin'  to  my  'pinion,  is  clean  out  'o  sight  when  it's  two 
hours  off  an'  you  are  powerful  hungry." 

"  There's  food  kep'  hot  o'  purpose  in  the  oven,  fa 
ther,  an'  there's  plenty  too  for  the  coloured  woman,"  re- 


24:0  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

plied  his  wife,  making  the  amende  honorable  according 
to  her  best  ability. 

The  food,  though  good,  very  nearly  choked  Nancy, 
hungry  as  she  was.  And  this  shows  the  strength  of  her 
pride,  for  hunger  as  a  rule  brings  people  smartly  to  a 
dead  level  of  mere  animal  sensation,  wherein  all  the 
finer  fibres  of  the  mind  are  completely  dulled,  so  that 
they  give  over  feeling,  or  perhaps  it  would  be  more  cor 
rect  to  say  that  for  the  time  being  they  do  not  vibrate  to 
the  finer  feelings.  Wilson,  with  the  hearty  good  nature 
of  a  strong  man  and  feeling  pity  for  Nancy's  desolation, 
had  brought  her  to  his  house  without  definite  invitation 
and  without  limiting  her  stay  in  any  way.  It  never  oc 
curred  to  him  to  do  so.  It  very  quickly  occurred  to  his 
wife,  however,  to  inquire  how  long  she  was  likely  to  be 
their  guest. 

"  Why,  Lordy,  Lordy,  jess  as  long  as  she  likes,"  re 
plied  the  heedless  husband. 

"  And  the  coloured  woman  ?  I  want  to  know,  Da 
rius,  if  we've  got  to  keep  the  two  of  them  all  summer?  " 
asked  his  wife,  her  keen  green-gray  eyes  looking  him 
through  and  through,  and  her  thin  pale  lips  shutting 
tightly  over  her  mouth  once  they  had  let  the  words 
out. 

"  I  guess  she'll  do  kinder  handy  as  a  hired  girl,  an' 
help  you  see  to  things  an'  mind  the  children,  Cinthy," 
replied  her  foolish  lord. 

"  Darius  Wilson,  I'm  surprised  at  you! "  observed 
his  wife  severely,  at  which  Darius  looked  uneasily  first 
at  one  boot  heel  and  then  at  the  other.  "  Do  you  guess 
I'm  going  to  begin  having  those  lazy  no-account  negro 
women  around  in  my  house  hindering  me  in  my  work — 
me  as  had  fifteen  cows  all  to  my  own  hand  in  York  State 
and  washed  and  scalded  the  milk  pans  every  blessed 
day  without  a  mite  o'  help  from  anybody!  No,  Darius, 
I  ain't  going  to  have  the  folks  down  to  Oneonta  say  as 


THE  TASK  OF  SISYPHUS  241 

Cinthy  Wilson  can  do  her  housework  no  more,  and  is 
drove  to  take  a  sloppy  coloured  woman  to  mess  round  in 
her  house." 

This  was  the  form  Mrs.  Wilson's  pride  took,  and 
Darius  in  the  course  of  his  married  life  had  frequently 
to  suffer  at  the  hands  of  those  scalded  milk  pans  and 
those  fifteen  cows,  if  one  may  be  permitted  the  use  of 
so  violent  a  metaphor. 

This,  then,  was  the  somewhat  unfriendly  haven  into 
which  Pate  had  guided  Nancy  Overton.  As  we  have 
said,  her  education  and  her  experience  were  both  de 
fective,  but  her  pride  now  came  to  the  rescue  and  sup 
plied  motive  power  enough  to  overcome  all  difficulties. 
Instead  of  remaining  a  passive  eater  of  food  under  the 
Wilsons'  roof,  not  a  week  elapsed  before  she  had  made 
her  plans  and  taken  her  decision.  The  raiders  under 
Quantrell  had,  it  is  true,  burned  everything  she  pos 
sessed — that  is,  all  that  was  combustible.  They  could 
not  burn  the  land,  however.  Accordingly,  that  remained 
to  Nancy,  and  once  more  the  luckless  girl  found  herself 
with  a  farm  to  sell.  But  the  blackened  and  devastated 
ruins  of  Carthage  constituted  a  very  different  sort  of  as 
set  from  that  snug  farm  down  in  Missouri,  as  she  soon 
found  out.  However,  there  was  a  man  in  Tecumseh 
who  agreed  to  give  her  a  few  hundred  dollars  for  her 
land.  She  eagerly  closed  with  the  bargain,  absurdly 
disadvantageous  as  it  was,  and  with  feverish  haste  re 
turned  to  the  Wilsons  with  the  money,  part  of  which 
had  been  paid  to  her  to  clinch  the  bargain. 

Once  more  there  was  a  burning  spot  on  her  cheeks  as 
she  again  broached  the  subject  of  her  board  and  lodging 
while  with  the  worthy  farmer  and  his  wife.  This  time 
her  eyes  sparkled  with  something  that  was  not  tender 
ness  of  feeling  as  she  handed  a  small  roll  of  green 
backs  to  Mrs.  Wilson. 

"  We  have,  I  am  sure,  been  a  great  burden  to  you, 


242  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

Mrs.  Wilson,  my  poor  afflicted  Susannah  and  myself,,  but 
if  you  will  accept  this  small  sum  in  payment  for  our 
board  and  lodging  I  shall  be  glad." 

Mrs.  Wilson  made  some  slight  show  of  resistance 
and  then  accepted  the  money,  but  she  kept  the  fact  a 
secret  from  her  good-tempered  husband,  as  there  were 
certain  things  about  which  he  was  exceedingly  obsti 
nate  and  determined.  The  unerring  instinct  derived 
from  twenty  years  of  wedded  life  made  her  know  that 
this  question  of  taking  money  from  Nancy  for  her  board 
would  be  just  one  of  those  very  things.  Paying  the 
money  gratified  Nancy's  pride,  accepting  it  enabled  Mrs. 
Wilson  to  buy  several  much-needed  articles  of  apparel 
for  the  children,  and  Darius  was  not  troubled  with  any 
details  likely  to  disturb  the  even  tenor  of  his  good  hu 
mour.  Mrs.  Wilson  compromised  with  her  conscience 
by  giving  Susannah  quite  a  number  of  sound  and  useful 
articles  of  clothing,  so  that  altogether  that  forlorn  per 
son  was  quite  respectably  made  up  for  her  new  life  in 
Lawrence.  She  and  her  scarcely  less  forlorn  young 
mistress  left  the  Wilsons  and  started  out  upon  the  world 
together.  Seldom  had  a  more  helpless  pair  faced  the 
unknown  under  more  depressing  circumstances. 

The  sense  of  her  complete  failure  came  upon  Nancy 
with  ever  increasing  force.  Had  it  not  been  for  Susan 
nah's  helplessness  and  the  knowledge  that  she  must  ex 
ert  herself  for  the  sake  of  the  mulatto  woman,  perhaps « 
she  would  never  have  borne  up  against  it  all.  With  the 
crazy  woman  entirely  dependent  upon  her,  the  young 
girl  felt  some  of  the  responsibilities  a  mother  might 
feel  who  had  a  child  to  take  care  of.  She  must  struggle 
on  and  make  another  effort  for  the  sake  of  Susannah, 
the  last  of  her  family  of  negroes. 

Instinct  rather  than  an  aptitude  for  business  told 
her  what  to  do.  There  is  always  one  sort  of  work  which 
is  wanted  in  every  community,  one  sort  of  work  that 


THE  TASK  OF  SISYPHUS  243 

pays,  one  sort  of  work  that  women  are  fitted  for.    Nancy 
had  failed  as  an  enthusiastic  enfranchiser  of  slaves;  she 
could  no  longer  hope  to  succeed  as  a  Kansas  settler,  but 
there  was  one  thing  she  could  do.     She  could  cook  for 
hungry  men.     Behold  her,  then,  in  very  different  cir 
cumstances  from  what  we  have  hitherto  seen  her.     She 
is  shorn  of  the  glory  of  being  a  queen  on  a  small  scale 
over  her  little  kingdom  of  slaves  or  freed  negroes.     She 
is  no  longer  the  centre  of  her  little  world,  as  she  has 
been  hitherto,  the  one  to  whom  all  looked  up.     It  is 
recorded  of  a  king  of  France  that  once  when  a  foreign 
sovereign  was  coming  to  pay  him  a  visit  at  Versailles 
his  Majesty  showed  the  greatest  alarm  and  concern  at 
the  expected  event.     It  turned  out  that  the  cause  of  this 
seemingly  groundless  perturbation  was  the  fact  that  his 
Majesty  felt  he  did  not  know  how  to  behave  to  an  equal, 
having  never  before  been  anything  but  in  veriest  truth 
the  monarch  of  all  he  surveyed.     Owing  to  her  strange 
ly  isolated  life  and  the  condition  under  which  she  had 
lived  at  Carthage,  Nancy  had  in  a  small  measure  been 
like  the  king  of  France.     Her  will,  gentle  though  it  was, 
had  been  law,  and  her  rule  was  uncontested.     A  long 
continuance  of  this  life  of  isolation   combined  with 
native  pride  would  in  the  end  have  made  her  a  hard, 
imperious  woman.     To  develop  such  a  character  there 
is   not    needed    a    kingdom    as    large    as    France.     A 
small  country  place  will  suffice,  if  the  initial  native 
pride   be   there   and   unquestioning   obedience   be   its 
portion. 

The  swift  destruction  that  overwhelmed  Carthage 
and  the  consequent  destitution  of  its  young  mistress 
may  have  been  necessary  to  the  development  of  her 
character  as  well  as  to  its  training,  but  it  was  one  of 
those  bitter  lessons  the  utility  of  which  is  much  more 
clearly  apparent  to  the  onlooker  than  to  the  person 
smarting  under  the  severity  of  the  training.  Nancy  did 


244  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

not  look  upon  it  as  a  chastening  that  she  deserved.  She 
did  not  consider  her  pride  needed  any  chastening.  On 
the  contrary,  she  called  upon  it  to  carry  her  through  the 
trials  which  even  she  foresaw  were  in  store  for  her. 
Life  looked  very  dreary  as  she  entered  upon  this  new 
phase  of  her  existence.  Charlie  Heaton  was  gone,  per 
haps  never  to  return,  and  now  Aunt  Monin  too  was 
lost.  She  literally  had  nothing  on  the  face  of  God's 
earth  to  love  but  a  crazy  mulatto  woman.  This  crazy 
woman,  an  added  burden  some  would  have  thought,  was 
the  one  thing  that  saved  her.  The  necessity  of  taking 
care  of  Susannah  made  work  imperative,  and  the  mind 
can  not  sink  into  hopeless  despair  when  the  body  is 
hard  worked. 

It  was  hard  work  and  no  mistake. 

Nancy  rented  a  small  wooden  house,  a  mere  shanty 
of  two  rooms  with  a  loft.  Over  the  door  of  this  shanty 
she  painted  in  bold  letters  with  her  own  hand,  "  Eating 
House."  There  were  a  good  many  people,  teamsters 
and  the  like,  passing  through  Lawrence  on  their 
way  out  West,  and  it  was  Nancy's  hope  to  attract  to 
her  modest  restaurant  those  who  were  too  poor  to 
go  to  the  Free  State  Hotel.  Hungry  men  soon  scent 
good  food.  Nancy's  eating  house,  although  standing 
away  from  the  main  street,  did  not  long  remain  un 
discovered.  She  began  to  get  a  little  custom  imme 
diately,  and  before  the  summer  was  well  set  in  had 
as  much  work  as  she  and  Susannah  could  possibly 
manage. 

The  ancient  Greeks  created  Sisyphus  and  his  stone 
forever  rolling  from  the  top  of  the  hill  as  an  embodi 
ment  of  the  idea  of  never-ending  labour.  The  modern 
antitype  is  a  woman  doing  housework.  No  sooner  had 
Sisyphus  got  his  stone  to  the  hilltop  than,  we  are  told, 
it  tumbled  inconveniently  to  the  bottom,  and  he  had  to 
begin  his  labour  all  over  again.  So  with  housework. 


THE  TASK  OF  SISYPHUS  245 

No  sooner  is  the  last  pot  washed  and  the  last  plate  put 
on  the  dresser  after  breakfast  than  down  comes  the 
first  saucepan  preparatory  to  dinner.  All  the  work 
has  to  be  done  over  again,  and  the  sinful  confusion 
of  an  after-dinner  kitchen  is  hardly  resolved  into  or 
der  when  the  riot  of  the  on-coming  supper  begins  to 
make  itself  felt.  We  have  no  authoritative  statement 
as  to  how  his  stone  rolling  affected  the  temper  of  Sisy 
phus,  but  if  we  are  to  judge  by  the  effect  of  prolonged 
housework  on  cooks,  he  must  have  been  as  cross  as  ten 
cats. 

This,  then,  is  the  work  that  Nancy  plunged  into 
along  with  Susannah  when  she  set  up  her  eating  house 
in  the  back  street  of  Lawrence.  She  was  young,  strong, 
and  healthy,  and  Susannah  worked  with  the  passive  en 
durance  of  a  machine,  yet  the  two  women  were  tired  to 
death  every  night  when  at  length  they  laid  their  weary 
bodies  to  rest  in  the  hot  and  dark  little  loft  which  Nancy 
dignified  by  the  name  of  "  her  room."  The  summer 
came  scorching  on,  as  it  does  in  Kansas,  first  with  a  hot 
whiff  and  then  with  a  blast  as  from  a  smelting  furnace. 
It  scorched  up  the  grass  and  made  the  trees  by  the  Kaw 
Kiver  look  as  if  a  prairie  fire  had  passed  that  way.  Even 
the  water  in  the  river  looked  hot  and  listless,  and,  as 
though  it  had  no  more  energy  to  run  its  long  course  to 
the  sea,  it  only  crawled  slimily  along,  trembling  under 
the  fierce  glare  of  a  pitiless  sun  that  made  the  sky  cop 
per  hued  with  the  heat. 

Yet  the  baking  of  pumpkin  pies  by  the  acre  and  the 
boiling  of  bacon  and  beans  by  the  cart  load,  with  the 
daily  mixing  up  of  hot  soda  biscuits,  went  on  uninter 
rupted  in  the  little  eating  house.  Small  wonder  that 
Nancy  looked  pale  and  thin,  and  that  the  curl  went  out 
of  her  crisp  black  hair,  leaving  limp  little  rings  lying 
flatly  on  her  white  forehead.  Her  vigorous  young 
hands  were  marked  with  many  a  red  sign  of  scald  and 


246  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

burn,  and  her  white  round  arms,  bare  high  over  the 
elbow,  were  dappled  with  flour,  as  she  bravely  worked 
on,  baking,  boiling,  stewing,  and  roasting,  washing  and 
cleaning  all  day  long,  to  stagger  wearily  to  rest  when 
the  night  at  length  came. 


CHAPTER    XXI 

AUNT  MONIN'S  QUEST 

WHEN  Aunt  Monin  arose  after  her  miraculous  re 
covery  from  "fits,"  and  had  expressed  her  wrath  arid 
contempt  for  her  stupid  captors  in  the  emphatic  way  al 
ready  set  forth,  she  found  herself  entirely  thrown  upon 
her  own  wits  for  support.  She  determined,  in  the  first 
instance,  to  lie  perdu  until  darkness  set  in,  for  she 
knew  that  she  was  in  the  enemy's  country,  and  that  it 
would  be  difficult  for  her  to  give  a  plausible  account  of 
herself,  supposing  she  came  across  any  one  who  chose 
to  make  inquiries.  Accordingly,  she  crept  off  to  an  old 
empty  corncrib  that  stood  in  a  neighbouring  field,  and 
curled  herself  up  among  the  cornshucks  to  pass  the 
day.  What  she  hoped  for  was  to  come  across  some 
friendly  darkey,  who,  knowing  the  locality,  would  help 
her  to  get  safely  away.  She  passed  the  hours  in  softly 
talking  and  singing  to  herself,  except  when  she  slept, 
which  she  did  lightly  at  intervals.  It  was  during  one 
of  these  fox's  sleeps  that  a  boy  appeared  chanting  melo 
diously,  "Come,  oh,  my  hogs,  ain't  yer  gwine  ter  be 
fed,"  in  a  beautiful  minor  cadence  quite  foreign  to  the 
commonplace  meaning  of  the  words.  Aunt  Monin 
awoke  instantly,  or  rather  opened  her  other  eye,  for  one 
may  be  said  to  have  remained  open  all  the  time,  and  sat 
up.  A  youth  of  about  fourteen  pulled  open  the  rickety 
door  and  began  to  grab  at  the  shucks  nearest  to  him, 
while  grunts  and  squeals  in  all  keys  denoted  that  his 

247 


248  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

cantata  had  not  been  sung  to  an  unappreciative  au 
dience. 

"  What  for  yo'  come  so  late,  chile?  Fse  bin  waitin' 
an'  waitin'  everlastin'  long/'  observed  Aunt  Monin 
somewhat  sternly. 

"Lordy!  Golly  Ned!"  exclaimed  the  boy,  consid 
erably  startled.  «  Who  dat  dar?  " 

He  dropped  his  shucks  and  backed  hurriedly  out  of 
the  door. 

"  Come  back  hyar,  yo'  poor  silly  possum.  Don't  yo' 
know  ole  Aunt  Monin?  I'se  s'prised  at  yo',  I  is,"  re 
marked  the  old  woman  with  scorn.  The  boy  was 
abashed,  as  she  meant  he  should  be,  and  came  again 
into  the  doorway  apologetically. 

"  Dish  hyar  crib  is  mighty  kinder  dark,"  he  said;  "  I 
nebber  seed  yo'." 

"  In  course  yo'  didn't;  dat  why  I  done  holler  out  ter 
yo',"  said  Aunt  Monin,  "  so  yo'  needn't  be  skeered  o' 
nothin'." 

"  I  warn't  nary  mite  skeered,"  replied  the  boy,  de 
tecting  in  this  remark  a  distinct  slur  upon  his  man 
hood. 

"Knowed  yo'  warn't,"  answered  Aunt  Monin  cor 
dially.  "  No  sorter  chile  I  hearn  tell  on  was  skeered  o' 
ole  Aunt  Monin." 

She  laughed  cheerfully. 

"  Yo'  bet,"  said  the  boy,  grinning  likewise. 

International  diplomacy  itself  could  not  go  further 
for  mutual  pretences  and  complete  falsification  of  the 
truth,  veiled  in  conventional  courtesies. 

"  Jess  run  'long  an'  tell  'em  ole  Aunt  Monin's  bin 
powerful  sick  an'  weak  an'  sorter  stan's  in  the  need  o' 
'sistance,"  said  she,  eying  him  keenly. 

"  Got  ter  feed  dem  hogs  fust,"  said  the  boy,  "  else 
ole  mas'r  crack  my  skull  for  me." 

"  To  be  shu'.     Yo'  don't  go  for  to  not  feed  dem 


AUNT  MONIN'S  QUEST  249 

hogs,  on'y  den  yo'  tell  yer  mammy  what  I  done  say,"  re 
peated  Aunt  Monin. 

"  Mammy  done  gone  'way." 

"  Whar?  "  asked  Aunt  Monin  with  keenest  anxiety 
of  voice  and  manner.  "  Now,  chile,  yo'  don't  go  for  ter 
tell  me  she  done  gone  clar  off,  an'  dat  I  ain't  gwine  ter 
see  her  no  mo'." 

"Mammy  she  stay  with  ole  man  Lewis  down  to 
the  ordinary.  She  done  hire  out  dar  and  cook  fo'  ole 
man  Lewis.  Mas'r  Tom  he  don't  keep  all  his  niggas  to 
home  no  mo'  now." 

Aunt  Monin  took  in  all  these  details  in  a  twinkling. 

"  Den  I'se  gwine  ter  see  her  'gain,"  she  said  with  a 
sigh  of  satisfied  affection;  "  when  yo'  gwine  down  ter  de 
ordinary,  chile?  " 

"  Mas'r  Tom  he  don't  say  nuffin.  I  go  'long  dar  jess 
when  I  want  ter.  We  uns  mos'  like  free  niggas  now. 
Mammy  she  done  give  me  jumble  cakes  and  m'larses 
candy  fo'  Marfa  Jane." 

The  lad  fed  his  hogs,  while  Aunt  Monin  stood  lean 
ing  against  the  doorway,  talking  unconcernedly  to  him, 
and  thus  learning  incidentally  all  she  wanted  in  regard 
to  where  she  was.  He,  having  accepted  her  as  an  old  ac 
quaintance  of  his  mother's  whom  he  ought  to  have  re 
membered  but  did  not,  was  perfectly  friendly  and 
chatty. 

"  Eeckon  I'll  go  'long  wid  yo',  honey,"  said  Aunt 
Monin  when  the  evening  job  was  over  and  he  came  to 
shut  up  the  crib.  I'se  kinder  lonesome  hyar,  an'  sorter 
longin'  ter  see  Marfa  Jane." 

So  the  pair  set  off  together,  and  Aunt  Monin  con 
gratulated  herself  on  having  begun  so  very  well  in  find 
ing  just  the  sort  of  person  who  was  likely  to  be  useful 
to  her.  The  corncrib  where  she  had  been  hiding  was 
situated  in  a  clump  of  trees,  and  when  Aunt  Monin 
emerged  from  this  place  of  concealment  she  at  once  no- 


250  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

ticed  the  deserted  look  of  everything.  Some  blackened 
heaps,  now  half  grown  over  with  weeds  and  grass,  told 
their  tale  plainly  enough,  and  if  the  story  needed  any 
annotation  this  was  supplied  by  the  appearance  of  the 
few  existing  houses,  which,  though  small  and  wretched, 
were  one  and  all  perfectly  new.  The  place  had  been 
burned,  and  that  within  a  couple  of  years. 

"  Who  done  burn  dish  hyar  city?  "  she  asked,  swing 
ing  her  long  arm  comprehensively  around  the  desolate 
scene. 

"  Jay-Hawkers  outer  Kansas.  Ole  Mas'r  Tom  dey 
burn  up  his  house  an'  all  de  corn  too,  an'  he  don't  do 
nuffin  now  on'y  drink  heap  o'  whisky  an'  lamm  his  nig- 
gas,"  replied  the  boy  with  a  grin  of  amusement. 

They  thus  proceeded  to  a  wretched  hovel  where  roll 
ing  blissfully  in  the  dust  was  Marfa  Jane,  a  fat  spoiled 
child  of  nine,  who  howled  at  the  sight  of  the  newcomer. 
The  mother  had  not  yet  returned  from  her  culinary 
duties  at  Lewis's  ordinary. 

"  Marfa  Jane,  yo'  hain't  got  no  manners,  yo'  hain't," 
said  Aunt  Monin  severely.  "  I  ain't  agwine  ter  tell  yer 
mammy  if  yo'  come  right  hyar  an'  behave  like  a  good 
little  gal." 

Marfa  Jane  subsided,  but  edged  away,  keeping  a 
sharp  lookout  upon  the  stranger.  The  way  in  which 
Aunt  Monin  took  command  of  that  hut,  and  how  she  or 
dered  the  children  to  produce  their  provisions,  and  the 
speed  with  which  she  tossed  together  a  pone  and  baked 
it  in  the  hot  ashes,  giving  it  to  them  to  eat  just  at  the 
right  moment,  was  a  sight.  The  two  children  were  de 
lighted  with  their  new  friend  and  cuddled  up  to  her 
when  she  began  to  sing  song  after  song  in  her  sweet 
old  quavering  voice. 

Of  course  Aunt  Monin's  diplomacy  was  all  directed 
toward  the  attainment  of  a  single  purpose,  namely,  her 
escape  back  into  Kansas.  Her  mind  was  set  on  return- 


AUNT  MONIN'S  QUEST  251 

ing  to  Carthage  and  to  Nancy.  No  matter  how  far  phe 
might  have  been  carried  by  her  captors  she  would  never 
have  abandoned  that  object  as  long  as  life  lasted.  She 
had  begun  to  look  out  for  her  opportunity  almost  from 
the  outset,  but  it  was  not  till  she  reached  Papinsville 
that  chance  favoured  her  by  a  change  in  the  men  who 
had  charge  of  the  party.  When  the  cook  at  Lewis's 
ordinary  returned,  it  is  needless  to  say  that  to  her  Aunt 
Monin  at  once  explained  who  she  was  and  what  was  the 
help  she  wanted. 

"  Sis'er,"  said  the  cook  eagerly,  "  I'se  gwine  ter  'list 
the  help  o'  de  bredren.  Dar's  Brer  Henry  Jeemes  down 
de  turnpike,  an'  he's  jess  gran'  to  riz  up  an'  pray  on  dish 
hyar  un'ertakin'.  Bar's  signs  an'  won'ers  in  de  Ian', 
sis'er,  an'  de  sperit  o'  de  Lo'd  move  de  multitude  to 
strive  fo'  righteousness,"  said  sister  Lu,  who  was  greatly 
given  to  Aunt  Monin's  own  practice  of  holding  mystic 
ally  forth.  "  De  han'  o'  de  Lo'd  is  riz  up.  Glory,  halle 
luiah!  Dem  ole  bushwhackers  under  ole  man  Holtz- 
claw  is  somewhar  roun'  in  de  brush  south  o'  Jefferson," 
she  added,  a  bit  of  worldly  gossip  bursting  into  her  mys 
ticism  and  streaking  it  like  a  shaft  of  light  thrown 
across  a  foggy  atmosphere. 

"  Is  dem  ole  secesh  bushwhackers  anywhars  roun' 
hyar?  "  inquired  Aunt  Monin,  with  an  eye  to  personal 
consequences. 

"  I  hearn  tell  de  secesh  armies  is  comin'  right  'long 
dish  time.  Dey  is  gwine  ter  whop  dem  Yankees,  any 
how,"  replied  sister  Lu,  who  from  being  cook  in  a  tav 
ern  frequented  by  Southerners  was  imbued  with  their 
faulty  notions  concerning  the  progress  of  the  war  and 
the  probable  course  thereof. 

"  Sis'er,  I'se  gwine  ter  start  fer  my  honey-chile  dish 
bressed  night/'  announced  Aunt  Monin,  who  saw  all 
sorts  of  dangers  to  herself  in  the  near  proximity  of  vic 
torious  Confederate  armies. 
17 


252  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

"  Sis'er,  yo'  ain't  gwine  ter  set  out  on  dish  journey 
'thout  takin'  council  o'  de  bredren  an'  axin'  de  blessin' 
o'  de  Lo'd  in  full  meetin'?"  remonstrated  sister  Lu, 
with  a  relapse  into  the  religious  character  again. 

"  Eeckon  de  blessin'  o'  de  Lo'd  ain't  partic'lar  sot  on 
comin'  down  through  yer  meetin'house.  He  can  sen'  it 
right  'long  anywheres/'  replied  Aunt  Monin,  with  the 
natural  scorn  of  a  rival  exponent  of  religion  in  face  of 
one  who  arrogated  superior  airs  unto  herself. 

"Which  way  yo'  gwine  ter  start?  "  asked  sister  Lu, 
coming  to  practical  details. 

"  I's  gwine  northwest.  We  come  southeast;  I  know 
dat  ar,"  answered  Aunt  Monin,  who  had  all  a  negro's 
unerring  instinct  for  direction. 

"  De  brush  in  de  Osage  is  plumb  full  o'  bushwhack 
ers.  I  seed  a  man  las'  week  tole  me/'  said  sister  Lu 
anxiously. 

Aunt  Monin  rose  up  and  stood  a  long,  lank  form  tow 
ering  high  above  sister  Lu's  fat,  stumpy  body.  Her 
great  black  eyes  shone  with  an  unearthly  sort  of  lustre. 

"  I'se  gwine/'  she  announced  briefly. 

"  Sis'er,  ax  de  blessin'  on  dish  hyar  un'ertakin'/'  re 
monstrated  her  companion. 

"  Eeckon  I'll  sorter  ax  de  blessin'  while  I'm  makin' 
tracks  fo'  Kansas.  De  Lo'd  he'll  un'erstan'  how  dish 
ole  nigga's  in  powerful  hurry,  an'  he'll  listen  while  I'm 
goin'  'long  de  road  ter  my  honey-chile.  Dat  chile  ain't 
nebber  slep'  nary  night  'way  from  ole  Aunt  Monin  since 
she  war  ten  days  ole.  She'll  be  a-callin'  out  for  me. 
Hark!  I  mos'  allers  hears  her  voice  in  de  trees,  an' 
comin'  down  from  de  sky  a-sayin',  '  Aunt  Monin,  Aunt 
Monin,  come  back  ter  yer  honey-chile.' '; 

"Ain't  yo'  got  on'y  one  chile?"  asked  sister  Lu, 
to  whom  this  seemed  an  unexampled  state  of  affairs  with 
a  healthy  negro  woman. 

"  On'y  dat  one  what  de  Lo'd  sen'  ter  me  in  do  hours 


AUNT  MONIN'S  QUEST  253 

o'  sin  an'  fiction  fer  ter  save  my  soul  from  'struction," 
answered  Aunt  Monin,  who  could  be  as  vague  as  sister 
Lu  when  once  she  started  in  that  line. 

Nothing  could  turn  her  from  her  purpose  of  starting 
off  that  very  same  night  on  her  return  journey  into 
Kansas;  so,  with  a  good  store  of  hard  corn  bread,  than 
which  there  is  nothing  more  sustaining  or  more  porta 
ble,  Aunt  Monin  stepped  out  into  the  darkness  with  no 
guide  but  the  north  star  and  her  faith  in  God.  She 
never  had  a  moment's  doubt  that  she  could  get  back 
into  Kansas,  if  only  she  was  not  stopped  by  the  bush 
whackers.  Her  constant  dread  was  that  she  might 
run  into  a  stray  troop  of  them.  Accordingly,  she  re 
solved  to  do  all  her  walking  by  night  and  to  lie  hidden 
during  the  hours  of  daylight.  Aunt  Monin  was  at  an 
age  when  exertion,  if  supported  by  a  fervent  inward  im 
pulse,  seemed  to  have  no  effect  upon  her.  Her  long 
lean  arms  hung  limply  by  her  side,  and  her  long  lean 
legs  swung  over  the  ground  with  a  shaking  sort  of  gait 
that  reminded  one,  ridiculously  enough,  of  a  camel. 
She  did  not  carry  an  ounce  of  useless  flesh.  Her  body 
was  made  of  bones  and  whipcord,  and  her  mind  was  set 
to  a  single  purpose.  Just  the  type  of  a  fanatic,  per 
haps,  but  the  type  that  accomplishes  what  it  sets  out 
to  do  in  all  ages  and  in  all  climes. 

Leaving  Papinsville  just  as  the  moon  rose,  Aunt 
Monin  found  herself  following  a  northwesterly  course 
by  a  road  which  seemed  latterly  to  have  fallen  into  dis 
use.  Trees  lay  across  it  in  the  bottom  land,  while  in 
the  open  the  grass  had  overgrown  the  deep  ruts  of  for 
mer  wagon  tracks.  All  through  the  silent  night  she 
tramped  steadily  onward.  Morning  found  her  on  the 
highlands  overlooking  the  valley  of  the  Osage.  She 
stopped  to  rest  and  to  eat  some  of  her  corn  bread;  mean 
while  she  gazed  keenly  about  her.  There  was  no  poetry 
or  sentiment  in  her  that  vibrated  to  the  strange  wild- 


254  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

ness  of  the  scene  around  her.  All  the  poetry  of  Aunt 
Monin's  nature  had  long  since  run  to  love  of  her 
"  honey-chile,"  leaving  nothing  to  feed  other  emotions. 
But  she  looked  none  the  less  keenly  at  the  scene  before 
her.  Suddenly  she  jumped  up  and  struck  her  lean 
hands  smartly  together. 

"  Glory,  halleluiah!  "  she  sang  with  a  ring  of  ex 
ultation.  "  I  knowed  de  Lo'd  was  guidin'  me  slap 
outer  de  Ian'  o'  bondage  'way  down  inter  de  Ian'  o' 
freedom.  Dar  flows  de  Ribber  Jordan.  I'se  gwine 
ter  cross  over  into  de  Ian'  o'  Canaan.  Glory,  halle 
luiah!  » 

She  had  recognised  the  scene,  and  this  outburst  was 
caused  by  the  fact  that  Mine  Creek,  the  border  stream, 
lay  within  reach  of  her  active  limbs;  another  night's 
walk  would  bring  her  to  its  fateful  banks.  No  wonder 
that  she  intoned  her  song  of  triumph.  Not  very  far 
away  up  the  river  valley  was  the  farm  where  she  had 
lived,  the  farm  where  "  ole  mas'r  "  had  been  killed  by 
the  Jay-Hawkers,  and  where  the  drama  of  Nancy's  life 
had  begun.  The  old  negress  rested  during  the  day 
curled  up  on  the  sunny  side  of  a  cottonwood  bush,  like  a 
copperhead  basking  in  the  fresh  warmth  of  the  spring 
sunshine.  Such  a  proceeding,  as  this  would  have  been 
destructive  to  any  but  a  negro  as  hard  and  as  tough  as 
Aunt  Monin.  She,  however,  felt  no  more  harm  from  it 
than  if  she  had  actually  been  the  snake  to  which  she 
has  been  likened.  As  soon  as  night  came  on  again  up 
she  started,  her  soul  exulting  in  the  thought  of  her 
nearness  to  the  border.  Considerable  time  was  lost  in 
going  around  the  head  waters  of  two  or  three  unfordable 
creeks  that  flowed  into  the  Osage;  thus  it  was  not  until 
the  afternoon  of  the  third  day  from  Papinsville  that 
she  found  herself  on  the  banks  of  Mine  Creek.  She  had 
not  met  a  living  creature  during  the  whole  march. 
This  would  not  have  been  possible  in  the  days  before 


AUNT  MONIN'S  QUEST  255 

the  war,  but  that  part  of  Missouri  was,  as  we  have  al 
ready  said,  quite  deserted. 

At  the  creek  she  found  a  man  trying  to  get  a  load 
of  coal  across,  a  doubtful  proceeding,  as  his  horses 
seemed  hardly  up  to  the  work.  He  had  evidently  come 
from  the  coal  mine,  and  was  going  into  Kansas  with  a 
heavy  load.  Aunt  Monin  concluded  he  must  be  going 
home,  and  that  his  home  was  in  Kansas;  therefore  he 
must  be  a  free-state  man,  and  she  might  trust  him. 
Coming  out  of  the  brushwood  where  she  had  been  lying 
concealed,  she  said: 

"  I'll  help  yo'  unload  half  dat  dar,  if  yo'll  give  me  a 
hoist  over  de  Ribber  Jordan,  mas'r." 

"  I  don't  take  toll  from  coloured  people.  Hop  in, 
my  good  soul,"  replied  the  man  with  unmistakable  abo 
litionist  manner  and  diction.  "  I  never  heard  this 
creek  called  the  Eiver  Jordan  before.  Mine  Creek  is 
the  name  it  mostly  goes  by  round  here." 

"  It  am  de  Bibber  Jordan,  mas'r,  'cause  I'se  gwine 
ter  cross  it  inter  de  promise'  Ian',"  replied  Aunt  Monin 
impressively,  as  she  clambered  up  beside  him  on  the 
driving  board. 

He  gave  a  satisfied  grunt  of  amusement,  and  they 
plunged  into  the  water.  Mine  Creek  was  only  moder 
ately  high  now  and  presented  no  particular  difficulties 
in  the  crossing  at  this  time;  but  just  on  the  other  side 
of  the  water  there  was  a  most  portentous  mudhole,  into 
which  the  heavy  laden  coal  wagon  plunged  and  there 
stuck  fast.  The  driver  urged  his  horses;  they  tried 
once  or  twice,  and  then  gave  it  up,  as  horses  always  do 
when  they  imagine  they  are  stalled. 

"  Well,  I  swan!  "  said  the  man  with  resignation. 

"  Pray  to  de  Lo'd,  mas'r,  an'  unload  de  wagon,"  said 
Aunt  Monin. 

"  Sound  advice,"  said  her  companion  with  a  chuckle, 
"  sound  practical  advice.  Reminds  me  of  Cromwell's 


256  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

direction  to  '  trust  in  the  Lord  and  keep  your  powder 
dry.'  Did  you  ever  hear  of  that,  granny  ?  " 

"  No,  mas'r,  nebber  hearn  tell  o'  Cromwell.  Was  he 
riz  out  in  Missouri  ?  " 

"  No;  but  his  spirit  seems  to  have  come  there  to 
dwell.  Guess  I'll  unhitch  and  come  down  to-morrow 
with  four  horses.  You  can  come  along  home  with  me. 
I  don't  live  far,  and  I  guess  you'll  be  glad  of  a  good 
night's  rest,  eh?" 

"  Yes,  mas'r,  I  would.  I've  come  afoot  from  Pa- 
pinsville,  an'  I'se  gwine  ter  Carthage,"  replied  Aunt 
Monin  simply. 

"  Well,  I'll  help  you  along  the  road  a  bit,"  said  her 
new  friend  kindly,  as  he  brought  his  now  released  horses 
out  of  the  mudhole,  leaving  the  wagon  behind.  He  was 
as  good  as  his  word  and  lost  no  time  in  making  inquiries 
for  some  one  going  north  with  a  wagon.  In  this  way 
Aunt  Monin  got  various  "  lifts  "  from  different  team 
sters,  so  that  she  did  not  have  to  depend  very  much  on 
her  own  powers  of  walking,  and  she  reached  Tecumseh 
far  sooner  than  she  would  have  done  if  left  to  her  own 
devices;  in  fact,  she  was  there  some  ten  days  or  so  after 
crossing  Mine  Creek. 

It  was  with  a  heart  overflowing  with  joy  that  she  set 
out  at  length  on  the  familiar  road  from  Tecumseh  to 
Carthage.  It  was  a  little  over  three  weeks  since  the 
raiders  had  carried  her  off  from  Nancy,  and  as  she 
tramped  along  she  began  to  act  over  and  over  again  the 
great  scene  of  her  meeting  with  .her  "  honey-chile  " 
which  was  so  soon  to  be  a  reality.  It  was  a  fresh  May 
morning,  and  the  dew  twinkled  merrily  on  the  grass 
which  was  still  in  the  tender  green  of  early  spring,  be 
fore  the  wear  and  tear  of  summer  had  tarnished  its 
beauty.  The  air  was  still  and  clear,  and  the  sky  bright 
shining  blue.  There  was  a  hush  over  the  prairie,  a  sol 
emn  loneliness  that  would  have  struck  a  more  imagina- 


AUNT  MONIN'S  QUEST  257 

tive  traveller.  There  are  no  birds  on  those  wide-reach 
ing  plains;  the  air  is  dead  to  their  song  and  their  chat 
ter.  Sometimes  a  solitary  crow  flies  slowly  along  utter 
ing  occasional  croaks  of  discontent,  but  of  song  birds 
there  are  none.  High  in  the  air,  faintly  specking  the 
blue  vault  of  heaven,  were  to  be  seen  little  V-shaped  pat 
terns,  like  triangles  with  no  base,  moving  apex  foremost 
straight  north,  and  from  time  to  time  these  baseless 
triangles  sent  forth  long  shrill  screams.  They  were 
the  wild  geese  flying  north,  a  sure  sign  that  summer 
was  coming.  Unerringly  they  winged  their  way  to 
ward  the  distant  north  in  one  long  flight  from  the 
shores  of  the  Mexican  Gulf  to  the  lone  lands  of  the  arc 
tic  seas.  Always  flying  in  carefully  constructed  tri 
angles  with  the  chief  in  front,  steadily  breasting  their 
way  north  across  that  immense  continent,  they  used  to 
pass  over  the  prairies  in  countless  thousands  every 
spring  and  autumn. 

As  steadily  as  the  wild  geese,  if  not  so  fast,  Aunt 
Monin  pursued  her  way  toward  Carthage.  Her  excite 
ment  increased  as  she  came  into  the  last  bottom  land, 
and  she  knew  she  would  get  a  sight  of  Carthage  when 
once  she  stood  on  the  top  of  the  next  ridge.  Her  faith 
ful  heart  swelled  with  love  and  a  feeling  of  immense 
pride  mingled  therewith.  She  would  tell  her  child  that 
no  one,  not  even  the  dreaded  slave  catchers  themselves, 
were  as  strong  as  her  love.  No  one  was  cute  enough  to 
keep  old  Aunt  Monin  from  breaking  away  and  getting 
back  to  her  honey-chile.  She  began  with  the  dramatic 
instincts  of  her  race  to  declaim  about  it  aloud,  setting 
her  words  to  a  sort  of  harmonious  droning  song.  The 
rude  mind  invariably  turns  to  declamation  and  melody 
to  express  emotion,  and  the  negro  falls  instinctively  into 
lyric  poetry  of  a  boastful  character  in  moments  of  great 
excitement: 


258  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

"  De  ole  slave  cotchers  done  gone  dor  way, 
Can't  fer  ter  keep  de  ole  woman  safe ; 
De  ole  slave  cotchers  dey  better  blin'  der  eyes, 
Don't  fer  ter  know  when  de  ole  nigga  dies." 

Thus  chanted  Aunt  Monin  victoriously  as  she 
mounted  the  last  slope  up  to  the  high  prairie.  Her 
feelings  became  so  excited  she  could  not  stay  to  finish 
her  song  of  triumph,  but  ended  in  the  dear  old  familiar 
Glory,  halleluiah!  in  one  great  howl  of  joy  as  she  got 
to  the  top. 

Carthage,  with  its  little  cluster  of  huts  around  the 
frame  house,  should  have  showed  up  clear  against  the 
western  horizon,  about  three  miles  ahead.  She  had 
often  seen  it  thus  outlined  against  the  red  setting  sun 
on  returning  from  Tecumseh.  There  was  nothing  on 
the  horizon  line  to-day.  "  Glory,  halleluiah!  "  died  on 
Aunt  Monin's  lips,  and  a  wail  of  despair  came  in  its 
place. 

"  Whar  de  home  o'  de  honey-chile  ?  "  she  cried,  gaz 
ing  with  wide  open  eyes  at  the  strange  scene.  One  little 
hut  alone  stood  where  there  used  to  be  at  least  a  half 
dozen  buildings.  As  she  neared  the  familiar  spot  she 
perceived  the  heaps  of  blackened  ruins,  which  only  too 
clearly  told  their  tale.  Some  cattle  were  standing  in 
what  had  been  Nancy's  little  flower  garden.  When  the 
poor  old  negress  saw  this  her  heart  overflowed  in  a  tor 
rent  of  passionate  grief.  It  was  like  being  suddenly 
confronted  with  the  stiffened  corpse  of  a  baby  of  whose 
death  she  had  not  heard.  It  was  the  reality  of  the  deso 
lation  brought  home  to  her  own  sight  and  feeling.  She 
wept  and  prayed  by  turns,  as  she  wandered  broken 
hearted  among  the  ruins  of  Nancy's  home. 

"  De  han'  o'  de  'stroyer  is  laid  on  my  honey-chile," 
she  cried  aloud,  "  an'  des'lation  an'  'struction  has 
fallen  'pon  her.  Aunt  Monin  warn't  dar  fer  ter  'stain 
her  an'  comfort  her  in  her  'fliction.  Oh,  my  honey- 


AUNT  MONIN'S  QUEST  259 

chile!  Whar  yo'  gone  'way  from  cle  sight  o'  yer  po'  ole 
Aunt  Monin?  " 

Weeping,  praying,,  and  singing  by  turns,  the  old 
woman  spent  hours  wandering  aimlessly  about  those 
blackened  heaps.  Sometimes  she  would  tell  herself 
which  were  the  different  houses  upon  whose  ruins  she 
was  standing,  but  after  every  outburst  she  resumed  her 
despairing  cry  for  her  lost  "  honey-chile." 

As  the  negroes  had  been  all  hurried  away  by  Quan- 
trell's  raiders  before  the  houses  were  set  on  fire,  they 
had  not  known  that  the  place  was  burned,  for  prisoners 
don't  hear  much  news  from  the  captors.  Aunt  Monin 
therefore  was  ignorant  of  the  destruction  of  Nancy's 
home,  and  the  shock  of  her  disappointment  was  corre 
spondingly  cruel  after  having  lived  all  those  days  in 
hope  and  confidence.  Had  she  reasoned  on  the  subject 
she  might  have  suspected  it,  but  negroes  never  reason; 
they  only  feel,  and  that  too  when  facts  are  forced  upon 
them.  Aunt  Monin  had  never  for  one  moment  im 
agined  that  she  would  not  find  Nancy  in  her  old  home, 
and  the  joy  of  once  more  seeing  that  child  of  her  heart 
had  been  the  only  emotion  that  had  occupied  her  mind 
during  the  whole  time  of  her  absence.  She  never 
thought  or  wrondered  about  anything  else.  Nancy  was 
at  Carthage  alone,  and  she,  Aunt  Monin,  was  going  to 
return  to  her.  The  disappointment  was  so  great,  so 
cruel,  that  for  some  hours  the  poor  old  soul  seemed  ab 
solutely  stunned  by  it.  Her  wits,  sharpened  to  the  at 
tainment  of  the  one  object  of  her  life,  seemed  now  to 
have  deserted  her.  She  couldn't  think  of  anything. 
She  didn't  try.  She  was  benumbed  and  gave  up,  mak 
ing  no  mental  effort  whatsoever  to  face  this  new  dis 
aster.  How  long  she  would  have  stayed  at  Carthage 
singing  over  the  dirge  of  her  despair,  it  is  impossible  to 
say.  She  was  at  length  aroused  by  the  arrival  of  a 
darky  who  came  to  look  after  the  cows  that  were  in- 


260  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

quisitively  poking  around  the  ruins  and  trampling  over 
Nancy's  little  flower  garden.  He  was  immensely  sur 
prised  to  see  Aunt  Monin,  whom  he  knew. 

"  Who  done  dat  dar?  "  inquired  Aunt  Monin,  point 
ing  to  the  blackened  ruins. 

"  Ole  man  Quantrell.  We  uns  'lowed  he  done  run 
yo'  niggas  off,"  replied  the  darky. 

"  De  day  o'  judgmental  come  ter  him.  He'll  have 
ter  answer  to  de  angel  o'  de  Lo'd  f o'  de  evil  dat  he  done. 
He'll  have  ter  pay  back  to  de  Lo'd  in  suff'rin'  fo'  de 
'struction  an'  des'lation  o'  dish  hyar  home,  an'  de  Lo'd 
he'll  sen'  his  soul  to  hell  for  retribution/'  said  Aunt 
Monin,  indulging  in  the  luxury  of  a  deferred  vengeance. 

The  darky  was  impressed  with  the  notion  of  this 
being  a  sort  of  prayer  meeting;  accordingly  he  said 
"  Glory,  halleluiah!  Amen,"  and  rolled  up  his  eyes  until 
the  whites  only  remained  visible. 

"  Whar  Miss  Nancy  gone?  "  she  next  inquired. 

"Gone  off  East,"  he  said,  repeating  what  he  had 
casually  heard.  "  She  an'  de  mad  nigga,  Susanner, 
done  gone  off  together." 

Aunt  Monin  began  to  wail  afresh.  The  friendly 
darky  at  length  persuaded  her  to  come  home  with  him, 
so  that  "  his  ole  woman  could  fix  her  up  and  feed  her." 
Having  now  no  aim  or  object  in  life  and  no  plans  of 
any  sort,  she  went  willingly  enough  with  him.  She 
stayed  some  little  time  with  these  kindly  souls,  making 
no  effort  to  find  Nancy  beyond  asking  those  she  hap 
pened  to  meet  "whar  she  done  gone?"  Her  return 
from  Papinsville  across  the  border  back  to  Carthage  had 
been  executed  with  such  energy  and  such  skill  it  may 
seem  surprising  that  the  same  person  should  now  be  in 
capable  of  further  effort.  The  journey  from  over  the 
border  presented  difficulties,  no  doubt,  but  they  were  all 
difficulties  she  could  grapple  with,  because  she  under 
stood  them.  The  foxlike  necessity  for  walking  at  night 


AUNT  MONIN'S  QUEST  261 

so  as  to  keep  out  of  sight  of  the  bushwhackers  was  a 
stratagem  within  her  comprehension;  the  physical  ex 
ertion  was  not  much  at  her  age,  buoyed  up  as  she  was  by 
the  hope  of  soon  seeing  Nancy  again.  Now  that  that 
hope  was  gone,  she  seemed  to  sink  at  once  into  helpless 
ness  and  to  have  lost  the  power  of  devising  any  plans. 
How  to  set  about  finding  her  honey-chile  in  that  vast 
vague  region  known  as  "  the  East  "  was  a  problem  quite 
beyond  her  powers  to  solve.  She  could,  of  course, 
neither  read  nor  write,  and  if  she  could  I  don't  know 
that  the  accomplishment  would  have  helped  her  much. 
The  only  thing  that  occurred  to  her  was  to  "  ax  folks," 
and  unfortunately  she  did  not  chance  across  the  Wil 
sons,  the  only  people  who  could  have  told  her  anything 
of  her  lost  one.  Having  come  to  this  decision  in  consul 
tation  with  her  negro  hosts,  she  again,  according  to  their 
advice,  chose  Kansas  City  as  the  place  where  asking 
would  be  of  the  most  use.  In  this  she  was  well  advised 
apparently,  since  Kansas  City  was  the  gate  of  northern 
Kansas — the  gate,  moreover,  through  which  most  people 
passed  on  their  way  to  and  from  the  interior. 

She  soon  became  known  on  the  levee  at  Kansas  City. 
She  used  to  go  down  to  the  steamboat  landing  to  meet 
all  the  boats  coming  up  or  down  the  river,  but  it  was 
mostly  the  up-river  steamers  she  haunted  with  particu 
lar  perseverance;  for  having  come  to  think  Nancy  was 
gone  East  she  was  forever  hoping  to  get  news  of  her 
from  that  direction.  The  steamboat  men  took  a  friend 
ly  interest  in  her  and  used  to  buoy  her  up  with  false 
hopes;  it  seemed  to  them  so  pathetic  to  see  that  old 
negress  always  at  the  landing,  day  after  day,  wistfully 
scanning  the  hurrying  passengers  for  a  face  she  was 
never  destined  to  see  among  them.  The  negro  hands 
on  the  boats  in  especial  were  interested  in  her  quest,  and 
made  inquiries  down  the  river  as  far  even  as  St.  Louis, 
all  to  no  purpose  of  course,  since  each  revolution  of  the 


262  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

paddle  wheel  eastward  took  them  away  from  where 
Nancy  was  baking  her  pumpkin  pies  and  boiling  her 
bacon  and  beans. 

^  Aunt  Monin's  search  was  not  wholly  in  vain.  A 
friend  turned  up  one  morning  on  board  the  boat  from 
St.  Louis,  a  grinning,  delighted  friend,  none  other  than 
the  redoubtable  Sambo,  who  appeared  in  all  the  glory  of 
first-class  waiterhood  on  board  the  steamer.  Her  heart 
leaped  with  joy  to  see  his  happy  conceited  face  once 
more,  but  she  wasn't  going  to  let  on  before  him,  not 
she.  Eying  him  therefore  with  a  glance  of  stern  in 
quiry  she  asked: 

''  Yo?,  Sambo,  whar  yo'  bin  all  dish  time?  What  fo' 
yo'  nebber  come  back  befo'?  Fse  bin  waitin'  a  lono- 
while." 

"Fse  pusson  what  had  speriences,"  replied  Sambo 
in  his  best  manner,  which  had  become  several  degrees 
finer  since  he  was  a  steamer  hand  in  regular  employ 
ment.  "  Fse  done  seed  a  heap,  Aunt  Monin,  since  we 
uns  was  run  off  by  Quantrell.  Fse  bin  in  a  big  fight." 

He  had,  in  fact,  escaped  from  his  captors  near  the 
Mississippi,  for  they  had  suddenly  to  scatter,  owing  to 
the  unexpected  approach  of  some  Federal  troops.  One 
of  those  numberless  small  conflicts  between  General 
Price's  forces  and  the  Federals  took  place,  and  Sambo, 
hearing  the  sound  of  heavy  guns,  crept  into  a  hollow  log 
and  lay  there  for  a  day  and  a  night  in  mortal  terror. 
He  was  far  beyond  the  range  of  the  largest  gun  except 
in  his  imagination,  but  he  endured  all  the  frights  of  a 
real  battle  in  the  most  vivid  completeness. 

"Why  don't  yo'  make  'quiries  'bout  Miss  Nancy?" 
asked  Aunt  Monin  jealously. 

"  I'se  gwine  ter.  Fse  gwine  ter  pay  my  'spects  to 
Miss  Nancy  dish  hyar  bressed  day,"  replied  Sambo  with 
alacrity. 

"  Boy,  I'se  done  lost  her/'  said  Aunt  Monin,  catch- 


AUNT  MONIN'S  QUEST  263 

ing  his  arm  anxiously  and  gazing  at  him  with  wistful 
eyes.  "  Dar  ain't  bin  nary  minute  since  we  was  run  off 
clat  I  don't  think  'bout  my  chile,  but  de  Lo'd's  deaf 
to  my  prayer.  I'se  done  lost  her,  and  I  can't  find  her." 

Aunt  Monin's  voice  trailed  off  into  a  wail  of  sorrow. 

"  I'se  gwine  ter  look  for  her.  Don't  yo'  make  no 
mo'  lamentation.  I'll  fin'  her,  Aunt  Monin,"  said  Sam 
bo,  never  the  one  to  think  lightly  of  his  own  powers. 

"Wharyo'look?" 

"  I'se  gwine  ter  make  'quiries  roun'  'mong  de  white 
gemblemen.  I'se  got  consid'ble  'quaintance  'mong 
white  gemblemen  now,"  said  Sambo,  swelling  with  im 
portance.  Aunt  Monin  was  too  eager  in  her  quest  to 
think  of  damping  his  courage,  otherwise  she  would  have 
put  a  pin  into  the  outrageously  distended  balloon  of  his 
self-conceit. 

One  day  in  high  midsummer  Sambo  arrived  at  the 
landing  stage  in  a  state  of  turbulent  excitement. 

"  Ho,  Aunt  Monin! "  he  shouted  triumphantly; 
"  look  hyar!  Fse  foun'  him  fer  yo'." 

"  Has  yo'  got  word  o'  my  honey-chile  ?  "  demanded 
the  old  woman,  whose  mind  seemed  now  capable  of 
holding  only  one  idea. 

"  Mos'  as  good  as  dat,"  said  Sambo.  "  Mas'r  Cap- 
ting  Charlie  Heaton  he  on  de  steamboat.  He  come  fer 
ter  git  Miss  Nancy." 

A  long,  gaunt,  cadaverous  creature,  with  shoulders 
sticking  out  like  plough  handles,  and  flabby  clothes 
flopping  around  legs  like  telegraph  posts,  came  along 
the  gangway.  He  had  a  yellow-greenish  face  and  a  long 
beard.  Of  Charlie  Heaton's  handsome  face  there  re 
mained  nothing  recognisable  except  his  eyes.  To  such 
a  pass  had  a  wound  and  swamp  fever  reduced  the  once 
dashing  soldier.  He  had  considered  himself  an  invalid, 
but  the  thought  that  Nancy  was  gone  and  must  be  found 
by  him  seemed  to  endow  his  lean  body  with  an  almost 


264  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

superhuman  energy.  He  had  come  back  on  sick  leave 
to  see  Nancy,  and  to  be  petted  and  nursed  by  her  back 
into  the  life  which  he  had  all  but  lost  in  the  cause  to 
which  he  had  devoted  himself.  After  long,  weary 
months  of  illness  and  suffering  it  seemed  to  him  that 
perhaps  his  atonement  was  complete  and  that  she  would 
forgive  him.  And  now,  just  as  he  was  at  the  end  of  his 
journey,  he  seemed  to  have  come  also  to  the  end  of 
his  hopes. 

The  disappointment  had  the  exactly  opposite  effect 
upon  him  from  what  it  had  had  on  Aunt  Monin.  It 
roused  him  to  instant  energy  and  action.  Sambo  had 
told  him  all  there  was  to  be  told,  and  before  he  reached 
Kansas  City  his  plans  were  made. 

"  Dish  is  de  han'  o'  de  Lo'd!  "  exclaimed  Aunt  Mo 
nin,  as  she  saw  him  and  recognised  the  advent  of  a  su 
perior  intelligence  to  be  added  now  to  her  own  devotion 
in  prosecuting  the  quest. 

"  I  guess  we'll  find  her  out  somehow,"  said  he,  with 
kindly  encouragement,  in  reply  to  the  old  nurse's  rhap 
sodies. 

He  proceeded  in  a  most  methodical  manner,  one 
which  brought  result  so  speedily  that  Aunt  Monin  saw 
in  it  a  special  providence,  and  became  more  and  more 
mystical  day  by  day.  Captain  Heaton  simply  went  to 
the  Government  office  at  Lecompton  and  found  out  who 
paid  the  taxes  on  Nancy's  quarter  section  of  land.  He 
took  both  Sambo  and  Aunt  Monin  with  him,  for  he 
knew  that  the  surest  way  to  Nancy's  heart  was  through 
those  slaves  for  whose  sake  she  had  sacrificed  so  much. 
Sambo  was  intelligently  useful,  Aunt  Monin  was  ecstat 
ically  hopeful  and  in  a  perennial  state  of  composing 
songs  of  triumph  relative  to  her  meeting  again  with  her 
"honey-chile."  Having  discovered  the  owner  of  the 
land,  it  was  easy  to  learn  Nancy's  whereabouts  from  him. 

These  various  inquiries  had  consumed  some  little 


AUNT  MONIN'S  QUEST  265 

time,  so  that  it  was  not  until  the  evening  of  the  21st  of 
August  that  Heaton  at  length  found  himself  driving  to 
ward  the  town  of  Lawrence.  The  21st  of  August,  1863, 
was  a  black  day  in  the  annals  of  Lawrence,  and  as  Hea 
ton  looked  down  upon  the  town  his  heart  stood  still  with 
horror. 

Instead  of  the  bright  little  town  nestling  among  the 
trees  on  the  Kaw  Eiver,  a  great  smoking  gap  of  black 
ened  ruins  lay  between  Winthrop  Street  and  Warren 
Street,  while  on  either  side  of  Massachusetts  Street  two 
long  lines  of  shapeless  cinders  marked  where  the  busi 
ness  houses  had  stood.  Columns  of  smoke  rose  on  the 
motionless  air  from  a  dozen  widely  separated  points  of 
the  town.  But  it  was  not  the  smoke  nor  the  blackened 
heaps  bordering  Massachusetts  Street  that  made  Hea- 
ton's  eyes  dilate  with  horror.  It  was  the  quick,  sharp 
sounds  of  stray  pistol  shots  here  and  there  and  the  long- 
drawn  wailings  of  women  who  were  crouching  over  ob 
jects  that  lay  upon  the  ground  in  the  streets. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE    BUENING    OF    LAWKENCE 

WE  left  Nancy  running  her  eating  house  at  Law 
rence  with  the  help  of  Susannah.  We  find  her  there 
on  the  1st  of  August  working  steadily  and  bravely  at 
the  same  business.  She  had  come  to  be  pretty  well 
known  in  Lawrence,  where  she  had  arrived  as  a  total 
stranger  not  so  many  months  before.  John  P.  Ridg- 
way,  who  would  have  been  a  good  friend  to  her,  was  far 
away.  He  had  been  drafted  off  as  a  soldier — not  having 
adopted  the  desperate  measure  of  drawing  his  front 
teeth — and  though  he  had  not  Heaton's  dreamy  en 
thusiastic  patriotism,  he  had  plenty  of  pride,  and  de 
termined,  as  he  must  be  a  soldier,  to  be  the  best  there 
was  going.  And  that  is  just  what  he  was,  about  the 
best  cavalry  soldier  that  ever  threw  a  leg  across  a  saddle. 
He  was  far  away  in  Tennessee  and  knew  nothing  about 
Nancy's  coming  to  Lawrence.  She  did  not  lack  for 
friends,  however.  Far  from  it. 

The  persons  who  frequented  the  new  eating  house 
were  mostly  teamsters;  that  is  to  say,  young  men  who 
carried  freight  to  and  fro  between  Lawrence  and  the 
neighbouring  towns.  These  were  not  slow  to  find  out 
what  a  charming  landlady  it  was  who  presided  at  the 
little  eating  house.  Such  attractive  girls  did  not  often 
appear  before  their  delighted  eyes,  and  it  is  not  an  exag 
geration  to  say  that  Nancy  might  have  been  engaged 
every  week  to  a  new  suitor  if  she  had  permitted  half  of 
200 


THE  BURNING  OF  LAWRENCE  267 

the  men  to  make  love  to  her  who  evinced  a  desire  to  do 
so.  At  last  she  fairly  took  flight  from  her  too  ardent 
admirers  and  devoted  herself  to  the  kitchen,  while  Su 
sannah  was  sent  in  to  wait  on  the  men  at  dinner.  Under 
the  steady  influence  of  hard  work,  the  mad  mulatto 
woman  had  settled  down  into  being  a  quiet  and  fairly 
efficient  servant.  She  never  gave  way  now  to  those 
crazy  outbursts  of  excitement,  and  Nancy  hoped  she  was 
going  to  get  over  them  altogether. 

Suddenly  one  day  Susannah  was  reduced  to  a  state 
of  helpless  abject  terror  by  the  appearance  of  a  new 
guest  at  the  eating  house.  He  was  a  tall  man  of  about 
thirty-five,  wearing  the  ordinary  big  hat,  red  shirt,  and 
heavy  riding  boots  of  the  plains.  There  was  nothing 
remarkable  about  him.  He  seemed  a  well  set  up,  vigor 
ous  man  with  face  bronzed  by  long  exposure  to  the  ele 
ments.  He  had  a  stern  look,  and  his  dark  eyebrows  met 
in  a  frown,  but  one  sometimes  sees  this  expression  in 
people  of  the  gentlest  character  if  the  skin  of  their  fore 
head  be  loose  and  easily  moved.  This  man  came  in  a 
short  time  before  dinner  and  sat  down,  thus  intimating 
his  desire  to  partake  of  the  forthcoming  meal.  No 
sooner  did  Susannah  see  him  than  she  dropped  the 
pitcher  of  water  she  was  carrying  to  the  table  and  fled 
screeching  to  the  kitchen.  Nancy  was  keenly  annoyed. 
She  found  it  impossible  to  quiet  the  woman  or  to  dis 
cover  the  cause  of  her  outburst.  Nothing  remained, 
therefore,  but  for  her  to  go  into  the  dining  room  her 
self,  leaving  Susannah  in  charge  of  the  kitchen,  thus 
reversing  their  respective  duties. 

Nancy's  appearance,  as  unexpected  as  it  was  wel 
come,  was  the  signal  for  s,  volley  of  delighted  exclama 
tions  and  comments  from  the  assembled  men,  to  most 
of  whom  she  was  well  known  and  to  many  of  whom  she 
was  an  object  of  hopeless  devotion.  The  stranger  looked 
up  at  the  commotion  and  his  eyes  encountered  Nancy's. 
18 


268  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

"By  thunder!"  he  exclaimed,  starting  to  his 
feet. 

Nancy  started  too  and  turned  very  white,  hut  she 
did  not  drop  the  dish  of  heans  she  was  carrying;  she 
only  gripped  it  the  tighter. 

"Wai,  stranger,  I  guess  you're  surprised  at  some 
thing,"  remarked  the  man  opposite,  eying  him  sternly. 

"  I  was  for  a  moment,"  said  the  newcomer,  sitting 
down  again,,  hut  not  taking  his  eyes  off  Nancy. 

She  had  regained  her  colour  and  something  more 
than  was  usual,  for  her  cheeks  glowed  hrightly  and  her 
eyes  seemed  to  sparkle.  The  men  gazed  at  her  in  ad 
miration;  only  the  new  guest  frowned  as  well  as  stared. 
Some  of  the  rejected  ones  felt  this  to  he  an  indirect  in 
sult  to  their  bewitching  landlady,  and  would  in  a  mo 
ment  have  made  it  the  ground  for  picking  up  a  quarrel 
then  and  there,  only  they  knew  that  Nancy  didn't  allow 
any  brawls  to  take  place  at  her  table.  They  accord 
ingly  endeavoured  to  be  sarcastic. 

"  Wai,  stranger,  guess  this  is  your  fust  visit  to  Law 
rence,  anyhow,"  commented  a  young  fellow  who  sat  op 
posite  the  glum  visitor. 

"  No,  sir,  I've  been  here  before." 

"  Sorter  'lowed  as  you  hadn't  seed  Miss  Nancy  afore, 
as  you  was  kinder  surprised." 

"  I  have  seen  Miss  Nancy  Overton  often." 

"  Land!  Miss  Nancy  didn't  look  as  she  was  all-fired 
glad  to  see  you." 

"  I  don't  inquire  into  the  reasons  of  ladies'  doings, 
but  I  always  do  of  men,"  replied  the  black-browed 
stranger  with  unmistakable  enmity.  Silence  fell  upon 
the  guests,  who  plied  their  knives  with  speed  and  effec 
tiveness.  Nancy  waited  upon  them  without  a  word. 
When  the  dinner  was  over,  all  the  men  rose  to  go  about 
their  several  affairs.  Only  the  stranger  remained  be 
hind,  obstinately  sitting  on  his  bench,  staring  vacantly 


THE  BURNING  OF  LAWRENCE  269 

up  at  the  rafters  of  the  low  room,  bent  on  outstaying 
every  one  else.  With  many  a  wrathful  glance  his  late 
table  associates  passed  him  and  went  out,  and  finally 
when  they  were  all  gone  he  got  up  and  walked  boldly 
into  the  small  kitchen.  Susannah  fled  at  the  sight  of 
him  out  through  the  back  door  and  hid  behind  the  wood 
pile.  Nancy  held  her  ground,  although  a  close  observer 
would  have  seen  that  she  was  both  nervous  and  fright 
ened  at  his  presence. 

"  Nancy,  has  it  come  to  this  ?  "  he  said,  with  more 
gentleness  of  manner  than  any  one  would  have  thought 
him  capable  of  from  the  roughness  and  gruffness  he  had 
maintained  in  the  dining  room. 

"  I  am  living  here.  I  have  done  so  for  some  time," 
answered  Nancy  very  quietly. 

"  As  drudge  to  rough  teamsters?  " 

"  No;  as  a  free  woman  who  is  working  for  her  liv 
ing/'  retorted  she,  with  something  of  her  old  spirit 
coming  back  to  her. 

"  I  don't  see  any  difference.  You  are  a  mere  servant 
to  these  men." 

"  I  am  not.  I  am  mistress  of  this  house,  and  I  allow 
in  this  room  only  those  whom  I  choose,"  she  said  with 
suggestive  firmness. 

"I  ain't  going  to  get  angry  with  you,  Nancy,"  he 
resumed  in  a  conciliatory  manner,  "  but  you  can't  stay 
here.  I  advise  you  to  leave  as  soon  as  you  can." 

"  James  Harte,  you  forget  who  you  are  talking  to," 
said  Nancy  haughtily.  "  I  don't  leave  my  own  home 
at  the  order  of  a  stranger,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  call  me  a  stranger.  I  mean 
well  by  you,"  answered  Harte,  for  it  was  he  who  had  so 
strangely  appeared  at  Nancy's  eating  house. 

"  I  am  sure  you  do,"  said  she,  at  once  softening. 

He  seemed  at  a  loss  how  to  proceed.  He  looked 
around,  frowned,  appeared  on  the  point  of  speaking,  and 


270  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

finally  got  up,   saying  he   would   come   again  in  the 
evening. 

"  I  want  to  talk  with  you,  Nancy,  so  don't  have  any 
of  those  men  around.  It  will  be  the  worse  for  them  and 
for  you." 

He  spoke  in  a  masterful  way,  to  which  Nancy  was 
but  little  accustomed  and  which  grated  on  her  proud 
spirit. 

"  If  you  want  to  see  me  for  a  short  while  I  can  spare 
the  time  after  the  work  is  over.  Come  at  eight  o'clock," 
she  said,  not  daring  to  refuse  to  see  him  and  yet  dread 
ing  his  visit  keenly.  She  suspected  that  he  wanted  to 
renew  his  suit,  and  she  considered  that  if  he  was  going 
to  live  in  Lawrence  it  might  be  just  as  well  to  get  it 
over  once  for  all  and  to  make  him  clearly  understand 
that  she  could  never  listen  to  him.  There  was  a  curious 
note  in  Harte's  manner  that  Nancy  failed  to  explain  to 
herself — an  air  of  command,  as  if  his  impetuous  temper 
had  been  growing  in  its  self-assertion  until  now  it  would 
brook  no  denial.  He  had  a  careless  air  of  peremptori- 
ness,  as  if  he  was  in  the  habit  of  ordering  men  about 
and  of  being  obeyed.  She  looked  forward,  therefore, 
to  the  evening's  talk  with  no  little  trepidation. 

Punctual  to  the  minute  there  he  was,  looking,  if  pos 
sible,  sterner  than  ever,  with  the  black  frown  deepening 
over  his  eyes.  It  was  a  handsome  face,  but  one  that  was 
not  pleasant  to  look  upon,  for  there  were  possibilities  of 
cruelty  lurking  about  that  set  mouth,  and  the  blue-gray 
eyes  looked  as  if  they  could  be  relentless  enough.  James 
Harte  had  changed  a  good  deal  since  Nancy  last  saw 
him,  and  he  had  changed  for  the  worse.  Life  was  not 
softening  his  rugged  nature,  but  was  casting  it  into 
harder  and  more  immovable  lines. 

"  I  guess  you  don't  forget  what  we  talked  about  the 
last  time  I  saw  you  down  in  Missouri,"  said  Harte,  seat 
ing  himself  opposite  Nancy  and  looking  her  squarely  in 


THE  BURNING  OF  LAWRENCE  271 

the  face.  His  eyes  were  not  those  to  sink  before  any 
one's,  whether  man's  or  woman's. 

"  Yes,  I  remember,  James,  and  no  doubt  you  remem 
ber  what  my  answer  was.  It  is  the  same  now." 

"  I  hadn't  inquired  about  that  yet,"  said  Harte  with 
a  slight  sneer. 

Nancy  flushed  at  this  taunt. 

"  I  guess  you're  a  regular  out  and  out  free-state 
woman  by  this  time?  "  wras  his  next  somewhat  unlooked- 
for  observation. 

"  I  am  more  against  slavery  than  ever.  This  war 
doesn't  make  folks  love  it.  I  should  think  even  you 
might  understand  that.  I  suppose  you  are  secesh,  aren't 
you?  The  war  is  costing  us  all  that  is  nearest  and  dear 
est,"  said  Nancy  earnestly. 

"  Exactly.  And  I  reckon  you'd  be  glad  to  do 
anything  you  could  to  save  the  folks  on  your  side, 
eh?" 

Nancy  looked  at  him  inquiringly,  but  did  not  reply. 

"  Now  I'm  coming  to  the  point  where  we  left  off  in 
Missouri  three  years  ago.  You  wouldn't  marry  me  then, 
because  you  didn't  care  about  me,  and  I  couldn't  offer 
you  enough  to  make  you  care  about  me.  Things  are 
changed  now,  Nancy.  There  ain't  many  things  I  can't 
offer  you  that  a  woman  would  want,  and  I  say  I  love 
you  all  the  same.  Yrou  are  the  only  girl  I  ever  saw  with 
a  spirit  I  could  admire.  I've  seen  enough  girls  that 
would  have  been  willing  and  glad  to  have  me,  but  I 
don't  want  a  mean-spirited,  clinging  wife.  I  want  a  wife 
with  a  spice  of  the  devil  in  her,  like  you,  Nancy.  I  don't 
believe  there's  anything  would  frighten  you,  by  gosh, 
and  I  admire  that,  I  do." 

Nancy  listened  in  speechless  amazement  to  this  ex 
traordinary  declaration  of  love. 

"  You  don't  seem  to  have  understood  what  I  said," 
she  observed  at  length. 


272  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

"  Yes,  I  understood  right  enough/'  he  interrupted, 
and  then  continued  in  the  same  measured,,  stern  voice, 
as  if  he  were  reading  out  the  rules  of  punishment  to  a 
mutinous  regiment.  "  You  don't  love  me,  and  you 
think  you  won't  marry  me.  Well,  women  often  marry 
men  they  don't  particularly  care  for,  if  the  men  can 
give  them  something  they  do  care  for  very  much.  Now 
I  can  do  this.  You  are  a  free-state  woman,  and  you 
would  like  your  own  folks  round  here  to  escape  the 
horrors  of  war.  Listen.  If  you'll  marry  me  I'll  give 
you  the  town  of  Lawrence — the  property  and  the  lives 
of  the  people  safe.  There  ain't  another  girl  'twixt  here 
and  Memphis  can  "boast  of  an  offer  like  that." 

Nancy  was  frightened.  She  felt  sure  the  man  was 
mad.  She  was  alone,  and  he  looked  black  and  stern 
enough  for  any  piece  of  devilry.  She  gazed  at  him  fasci 
nated  with  fear — she  whom  he  had  been  just  praising  as 
a  girl  who  was  afraid  of  nothing. 

"  What's  your  answer?  " 

"  I  don't  understand  what  you  mean.  How  can  you 
give  me  Lawrence?  " 

"  I  can  give  it  to  you,  and  I  will  do  so,  by  God,  if 
you'll  marry  me.  But  you  must  be  quick.  Maybe  I'm 
playing  with  my  life,  and  most  folks  would  say  I  was  a 
darned  fool  too;  all  for  the  sake  of  a  girl  who  don't  care 
one  wink  of  her  bright  eyes  for  me.  You  must  answer 
quick  and  straight,  for  I  ain't  the  man  to  dangle  round  a 
woman's  skirts,  even  if  it's  you.  You  must  say  yes  or 
no  to-night.  To-morrow  it  will  be  too  late;  I  shall  be 
gone.  If  you'll  come  away  with  me  in  the  morning  we'll 
get  married  right  away.  I'll  give  you  Lawrence,  the 
lives  of  the  men,  the  homes  of  the  women  and  children. 
Say  yes,  Nancy,  and  you  won't  regret  it.  You'll  have 
done  more  for  your  folks  and  the  side  you  take  than 
two  hundred  soldiers;  there  ain't  another  woman  be 
tween  the  Potomac  and  the  Mississippi  could  do  half  as 


THE  BURNING  OF  LAWRENCE  273 

much.    Say  no,  and  your  life  won't  be  long  enough  for 
your  remorse." 

The  danger  was  very  near,  but  mad  or  no,  Nancy 
must  meet  him,  and  she  did  so  with  a  direct  refusal.  He 
stopped,  and  she  could  hear  him  breathing  heavily  while 
his  nostrils  twitched.  She  knew  the  furious  temper  of 
old,  and  wondered  where  the  storm  would  break,  and 
how  she  should  withstand  it. 

"Think  again,  Nancy.  Lawrence  against  a  girl's 
fancy,"  he  said,  making  an  effort  to  control  himself. 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  what  you  say,  James 
Harte.  You  think  to  frighten  me  into  marrying  you 
by  this  bugbear  of  a  story." 

"  It's  the  truth,  I  swear  to  God  it  is,"  he  interrupted. 
"  Lawrence  isn't  yours.      I  don't  know  what  you 
mean  by  '  giving '  it  to  me.    Free  cities  don't  lie  in  the 
hollow  of  a  man's  hand,  like  an  ear  of  corn." 

"  Don't  it,  by  thunder!  Lawrence  does  lie  in  the 
hollow  of  my  hand,  and  I  can  give  it  to  you  as  a  wedding 

gift,  or  I  can " 

"  You  are  raving  mad,  James  Harte,  and  I  won't 
listen  to  any  more  of  your  wild  words,"  interrupted 
Nancy  vehemently,  as  she  saw  the  door  open  and  two 
of  her  oldest  and  most  respected  boarders  come  into 
the  apartment.  Never  before  did  she  look  upon  their 
rough  faces  with  such  joy.  Harte  turned  with  a 
smothered  oath,  and  in  a  few  moments  rose  to  leave 
the  room.  As  he  said  good-bye  he  repeated  under  his 
breath: 

"  Think  again,  Nancy.  I  give  you  one  more  chance." 
"  Never!  "  said  she  boldly,  confident  now  her  friends 
were  near. 

"  Then  damn  Lawrence  and  you! "  said  Harte,  furi 
ously  grinding  his  teeth  as  he  strode  from  the  room  to 
the  great  relief  of  Nancy.  What  he  had  meant  by  his 
threats  or  whether  he  had  meant  anything,  she  did  not 


274  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

stop  to  inquire;  she  was  only  thankful  he  was  gone, 
never,  she  hoped,  to  return. 

Try  as  she  might  to  dismiss  all  memory  of  him  from 
her  mind,  the  recollection  of  his  threats  was  soon  forced 
upon  her,  for  the  air  was  full  of  rumours.  Vague 
whispers  went  about,  anxious  inquiries  were  made  which 
none  could  answer.  One  of  those  chronic  periods  of 
excitement  and  suspense  was  creeping  upon  Lawrence 
when  the  word  "  raid "  was  passed  from  mouth  to 
mouth.  The  teamsters  at  the  eating  house  talked  loudly 
about  it  and  continuously  and  the  news  was  not  long  in 
reaching  Nancy  in  the  midst  of  her  beans  and  bacon 
and  her  hot  soda  biscuits.  It  came  upon  her  that  per 
haps  this  might  be  the  explanation  of  James  Harte's 
curious  threat  and  still  more  curious  offer.  She  spoke 
about  it  to  some  of  her  boarders.  They  were  convinced 
he  was  a  spy,  and  were  consequently  full  of  regret  that 
they  hadn't  "  dropped  him  on  sight."  Word  passed 
around  that  spies  were  abroad,  and  this  did  not  tend  to 
allay  the  excitement.  Help  was  asked  from  Fort 
Leavenworth,  and  two  cannon  came  lumbering  along, 
only  to  be  met  by  orders  from  headquarters  to  go 
home  again,  so  they  lumbered  back.  Such  is  military 
prescience.  General  Collamore,  the  mayor,  heard  re 
ports  of  Nancy's  late  visitor,  and  the  eating  house  was 
amazed  to  see  him  on  horseback  prance  up  to  its  modest 
door.  Nancy  was  summoned  from  her  pumpkin  pies, 
and  appeared  with  bare  arms  and  a  snowy  dab  of  flour 
like  a  white  rose  ornamenting  her  black  hair.  The 
mayor,  being  but  a  man,  smiled  at  the  pretty  young 
landlady  and  called  her  "  my  dear." 

He  inquired  minutely  into  the  appearance  and  tactics 
of  the  spy  she  was  supposed  to  have  had  under  her  roof, 
and  Nancy  with  a  sweet  blush  told  him  of  James  Harte's 
singular  offer  of  marriage. 

"And  you  said  no,  didn't  you?"  asked  the  mayor, 


THE  BURNING  OF  LAWRENCE  275 

distinctly   amused   at   what   he   took   to   be   a   lover's 
stratagem. 

"  Of  course  I  refused,"  answered  Nancy. 
"  Quite  right,  my  dear.  You  are  far  too  pretty  for  a 
rascally  butternut.  You  just  wait  until  the  gallant  boys 
in  blue  come  marching  home  victorious,  and  then  you 
choose  a  dashing  soldier  for  yourself,"  said  the  cheer 
ful  mayor. 

A  look  of  such  unmistakable  pain  passed  over  the 
young  girl's  sweet  face  that  the  kindly  mayor  saw  he 
had  touched  what  was  perhaps  an  aching  wound. 

"My  child,"  he  said  gently,  "you  have  chosen  a 
loyal  soldier  already.  I  trust  all  goes  well  with  him." 

"  I  don't  know.  He  went  away  long  ago,"  she  said 
quietly. 

"  God  grant  he  may  come  back  safe  to  you! " 
The  mayor  rode  away,  feeling  that,  except  for  the 
pleasure  of  looking  upon  a  very  pretty  face  and  hearing 
a  sweet  young  voice,  he  had  certainly  wasted  some  of 
the  public  time  which  might  have  been  better  employed 
in  arranging  for  the  defence  of  the  town. 

The  excitement  continued  to  increase.  People  went 
about  in  fear  and  trembling.  Arms  were  collected  at 
the  courthouse,  and  every  man  was  ordered  to  go  there 
upon  the  first  appearance  of  danger.  Two  or  three  com 
panies  of  State  militia  came  in  from  neighbouring  towns 
and  idled  around  the  streets. 
Nothing  happened. 

The  hot  days  scorched  along,  and  scouts  returning 
from  the  direction  of  Franklin  and  the  border  reported 
all  quiet  there.  The  overland  mail  ran  unmolested 
through  Black  Jack  and  streeled  off  toward  the  limit 
less  West  in  a  continuous  cloud  of  dust  of  its  own 
raising. 

The  little  eating  house  stood  on  the  very  western 
limit  of  Lawrence,  an  isolated  shanty  in  its  own  plot  of 


276  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

ground.  Just  behind  it  was  a  large  field  of  corn,  now 
in  its  summer  height,  with  great  nodding  plumes  of 
florescence  on  the  ends  of  its  lofty  stalks.  Occasionally, 
when  there  was  a  little  wind  stirring,  Nancy  used  to 
listen  to  the  rustle  of  the  large  ribbonlike  leaves.  It 
reminded  her  of  the  sound  of  the  trees  down  in  Missouri, 
a  sound  she  had  not  often  heard  since  coming  to  Kan 
sas,  and  it  was  welcome  to  her  as  a  memory  of  brighter 
days.  The  weeks  passed,  and  the  idea  of  a  raid  being 
imminent  passed  also.  Nobody  saw  any  sign  of  the 
gathering  storm,  and  the  military  authorities  at  Kansas 
City  were  cheerfully  serene.  Lawrence  had  been  so 
often  frightened  that  people  began  to  laugh  at  her  fears. 
The  militiamen  laughed  loudest,  and,  turning  back  dis 
gusted,  went  home  to  their  farm  work  again,  confident 
in  the  strength  of  the  soldiers  to  stop  raiders  from  com 
ing  over  the  border.  The  panic  was  over,  and  Lawrence 
went  about  its  manifold  business  on  the  20th  of  August, 
and  expected  to  do  so  on  the  next  and  following  days. 

Early  hours  used  to  obtain  on  the  prairie,  and  Nancy 
was  just  opening  the  door  at  half  past  five  on  the  morn 
ing  of  the  21st  to  intimate  that  breakfast  would  be  ready 
in  half  an  hour,  when  her  "  chore  boy  "  bounced  in,  ab 
solutely  green  with  terror.  This  was  a  young  darky  who 
used  to  draw  water  from  the  well  and  fetch  and  carry 
generally  for  the  household. 

"  Oh,  Lordy,  Lordy!  "  he  cried,  trying  to  creep  under 
the  table. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you,  Hercky?  Has  any 
body  beaten  you?"  asked  Nancy,  surprised  at  his  con 
duct. 

"  Oh,  Lordy,  Lordy!  I  seed  'em,"  replied  the  de 
moralized  Hercules  incomprehensibly. 

"Seen  who?" 

"De  bushwhackers  ridin'  'long  by  de  breshwood," 
said  the  shivering  lad. 


THE  BURNING  OF  LAWRENCE  277 

"  Nonsense!  They  were  some  of  our  troops.  We  are 
going  to  have  soldiers  here  now.  Get  out  from  under 
the  table  and  draw  the  water  for  breakfast.  I  want  three 
bucketfuls." 

Hercules  arose  trembling  and  went  to  the  well,  his 
eyes  rolling  horribly  in  his  head.  Nancy  watched  him 
in  scornful  amusement  for  a  second.  He  let  down  the 
bucket  and  had  begun  to  wind  up  the  windlass  when  his 
rolling  eyes  caught  sight  of  some  object  that  caused  him 
violent  emotion. 

"  Oh,  Lordy,  dar  dey  is!  I  know  dem  butternuts. 
Oh,  Lordy!  " 

Without  delay  he  sprang  back  out  of  reach  of  the 
windlass,  let  go  the  handle,  and  fled.  The  released 
handle  flew  violently  round  as  the  bucket  fell  back  with 
a  splash  into  the  well.  Hercules  was  out  of  sight  in  the 
cornfield,  and  a  negro  in  a  cornfield  is  as  impossible 
to  find  as  the  proverbial  needle  in  a  bundle  of  hay.  The 
corn  was  eight  feet  high,  growing  like  sturdy  bamboos 
covered  with  broad  leaves,  and  the  field  contained  forty 
acres.  Five  hundred  men  could  hide  in  such  a  place. 

"Well,  to  be  sure,  talk  of  ghosts  and  the  fear 
thereof! "  said  Nancy,  smiling  at  the  flight  of  the  re 
doubtable  Hercules.  She  went  herself  to  the  well  and 
began  to  wind  up  the  bucket,  but  something  caught  her 
eye,  for  she  turned  very  white.  She  did  not  let  go  the 
handle,  but  wound  at  it  for  dear  life,  and  then  left  it 
standing  on  the  edge  of  the  well  and  ran  back  into  the 
house,  all  of  a  tremble. 

"Susannah,  the  woods  are  full  of  bushwhackers! 
I  saw  them.  Oh,  what  shall  we  do?  "  she  said,  with  the 
instinct  of  a  woman,  which  is  to  ask  for  help  in  the 
first  moment  of  danger. 

"  Ain't  I  got  my  flapjacks  light  wid  de  beating?  " 
said  Susannah  inconsequently.  Her  mind  was  set  to 
cooking,  and  could  not  be  moved  therefrom  without 


278  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

some  external  excitement.  This  impetus  was  not  lack 
ing  on  the  present  occasion.  A  moment  after  the  town 
rang  with  yells,  shouts,  and  the  quick  reports  of  pistol 
shots. 

Nancy  went  to  shut  the  door  with  a  view  to  placing 
that  feeble  barrier  between  her  and  the  danger. 

"  Oh,  Lordy,  Lordy,  dar's  ole  man  Quantrell! " 
shrieked  Susannah,  and  the  name  seemed  to  be  taken 
up  by  a  hundred  voices.  "  Quantrell!  Quantrell!  "  was 
echoed  back  from  the  houses. 

A  tall  man  on  a  big  horse  galloped  by  the  door. 
Nancy  saw  him  as  he  flashed  by. 

"  I  am  Quantrell!  Down  with  the  blue-bellied  Yan 
kees!  Shoot  every  one!  " 

The  figure  was  that  of  James  Harte,  but  the  face 
was  that  of  a  devil. 

They  swarmed  in  from  everywhere.  The  Waukarusa 
woods  seemed  to  yield  up  men  like  falling  leaves,  so 
great  was  the  multitude.  They  thundered  up  Main 
Street,  firing  right  and  left.  Their  horses  bounded  over 
the  ground,  and  at  every  bound  there  was  a  shot  sent 
into  some  door  or  window.  Straight  on  to  the  new 
hotel  they  rushed  as  the  big  gong  sounded,  calling  the 
guests  from  their  beds.  It  was  a  rueful  awakening.  In 
batches  and  squads  they  were  marched  out,  and  many 
were  shot  down  on  the  pavement,  a  few  paces  away  from 
the  house  where  they  had  lately  been  peacefully  sleep 
ing.  Men  were  summoned  to  open  their  doors,  and  a 
quick  shot  was  the  death-dealing  visitor  they  admitted. 
Women  came  tremblingly  forth  clasping  their  children 
in  their  arms,  and  the  raiders  first  looted  and  then 
burned  their  houses. 

Lawrence,  which  had  made  ready  for  repelling  an 
attack  three  weeks  before,  was  now  caught  totally  un 
armed  and  unprepared.  Arms  and  ammunition  were 
locked  up  in  fatal  security  in  the  courthouse,  and  that 


THE  BURNING  OF  LAWRENCE  279 

Quantrell  had  seized.  It  was  not  for  nothing  that  the 
raider  chief  had  come  into  Lawrence  to  see  how  the 
land  lay  and  to  note  where  his  attack  should  be  deliv 
ered.  In  the  intervals  of  his  strange  wooing  of  Nancy 
he  had  not  been  idle. 

There  was  no  resistance,  no  fighting  even,  only  a 
string  of  murders  enduring  nearly  all  day.  Nancy  re 
mained  for  some  hours  in  her  house,  dreading  to  leave 
it  and  yet  fearful  of  remaining.  The  flying  townsfolk 
made  for  the  woods.  Some  got  there,  some  crept  into 
the  ravine  overgrown  with  brushwood  which  bisects  the 
town.  They  were  pursued  by  the  raiders  to  the  very 
edge  of  this  ravine,  but  no  one  dared  explore  it.  Desper 
ate  men,  driven  at  bay  in  a  thicket,  were  not  the  prey 
the  raiders  cared  to  face.  Scores  of  fugitives  made  for 
the  cornfield  behind  Nancy's  house.  Poor  panting 
creatures  with  glaring  bloodshot  eyes  rushed  wildly  past 
her  door  and  leaped  into  the  kindly  shelter  of  the  tall 
growing  maize.  After  them  came  the  butternuts  begirt 
with  pistols,  firing  at  every  step.  Running  aim  is  not  a 
steady  aim,  so  most  of  the  fugitives  gained  the  corn 
field;  a  few  who  were  wounded  were  overtaken  and  shot 
in  the  very  verge  of  the  safe  retreat. 

The  sun  rose  higher  and  higher  over  the  unhappy 
town.  Not  a  breath  of  air  was  there  to  stir  a  leaf  or  to 
give  movement  to  the  dense  suffocating  smoke  from  the 
burning  of  the  wooden  houses.  The  heat  was  intoler 
able,  and  those  wretched  fugitives  cowering  in  the  corn 
field  were  going  mad  with  thirst.  The  baking  sun  beat 
straight  down  on  them  now,  the  bamboolike  stems  of 
the  corn  giving  no  help  and  no  shadow.  Some  of  them 
crept  cautiously  to  the  edge  next  Nancy's  house.  They 
called  to  her  in  timorous  tones. 

"  Water!  "  was  their  cry.  "  Give  us  water,  for  God's 
sake!  " 

Nancy  heard  the  prayer,  and  hearing,  answered  it. 


280  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

She  took  bucket  after  bucket  of  cool  life-giving  water 
from  her  well  down  into  the  sweltering  cornfield  to  the 
gasping  fugitives  hiding  there.  Coming  out  after  one 
of  these  journeys  of  mercy,,  she  found  a  troop  of  Mis- 
sourians  ransacking  her  house  preparatory  to  setting  it 
on  fire. 

"  What  have  you  got  in  that  cornfield?  "  they  asked 
her. 

"  Go  in  and  see/'  she  replied  haughtily.  "Go;  you 
will  find  it  the  hottest  place  you've  been  in  to-day. 
Try  it." 

"  Maybe  it's  the  State  militia  coming  up/'  suggested 
one  of  the  raiders,  who  was  employed  in  smashing 
Nancy's  simple  furniture. 

The  words  State  militia  set  them  furious. 

"  Tell  us  or  we'll  throw  you  down  the  well.  Who's 
in  there?" 

"  Go.  You'll  find  out/'  replied  Nancy  dauntlessly, 
well  knowing  that  the  best  chance  she  had  of  screening 
the  fugitives  was  by  letting  the  raiders  imagine  the  field 
concealed  the  militia. 

"  Take  her  to  Quantrell.  He'll  know  how  to  make 
her  speak/'  said  one  of  the  ruffians,  evidently  half 
drunk. 

She  was  seized  in  a  moment  and  swung  upon  a  horse. 
The  rest  of  the  party  mounted  fast.  Susannah,  scared 
from  the  house  by  the  flames,  at  this  instant  rushed 
out  with  her  clothes  on  fire.  Nancy  tried  to  spring  down 
from  the  horse  and  go  to  her  assistance. 

"  Are  you  fiends  in  human  shape  that  you  can  see 
a  woman  burn  to  death  ?  "  she  cried  in  horror. 

"  Eeckon  I  can  quiet  her  screeches,  anyhow,"  said 
one  of  the  raiders,  drawing  his  pistol  and  firing  at  the 
frantic  woman. 

"Quit  that,  you  damn  fool!  The  chief  don't  'low 
killin'  o'  women,"  roared  a  companion,  who  was  evi- 


THE  BURNING  OF  LAWRENCE  281 

dently  a  beginner  at  the  work.  The  mulatto  woman  fell 
in  a  heap  on  the  ground,  and  the  last  speaker  took  off 
his  wide-brimmed  hat  and  flapped  out  the  flames. 

"  Nigger  women  don't  count  in  any  orders  as  I  know 
on/'  said  the  one  who  had  fired,  as  he  sulkily  put  up  his 
weapon. 

"You'll  bring  Quantrell  down  on  us,  you  blamed 
fool!  "  scolded  the  other. 

"  I'll  bring  my  revolver  down  on  you  this  minute 
and  let  the  daylight  into  you  if  you  dare  say  another 
word  to  me,"  returned  his  fraternal  companion  in  arms. 

Nancy  made  another  effort  to  break  away  and  go  to 
Susannah's  assistance,  but  a  bird  caught  in  a  net  was 
not  more  powerless  than  she.  The  men  made  sport  of 
her  frantic  despair  and  without  difficulty  held  her 
powerless.  Resigning  herself  to  the  inevitable,  she  re 
mained  sullenly  quiet.  One  hopeless  glance  she  cast 
back  toward  Susannah,  who  lay  prone  upon  the  ground, 
whether  dead  or  not  she  could  not  say.  Thus  Nancy 
was  separated  from  the  last  of  her  former  slaves,  from 
those  poor  creatures  for  whom  she  had  sacrificed  so 
much.  Amid  smoke  and  flame,  a  captive  among  brutal 
raiders,  she  disappeared  from  her  little  eating  house  in 
Lawrence  toward  the  middle  of  the  day  when  that  luck 
less  dwelling,  together  with  half  of  the  town,  disap 
peared  off  the  face  of  the  earth. 


CHAPTEE  XXIII 

NANCY   MISSING 

THIS,  then,  was  the  sight  that  met  Heaton's  eye  as 
he  looked  down  upon  Lawrence,  a  black,  smoking  mass 
in  the  centre  of  the  town,  and  here  and  there  red  glow 
ing  flames  where  some  of  the  houses  last  set  on  fire  were 
slowly  consuming  their  timbers.  He  was  a  soldier  and 
had  seen  two  years  and  a  half  of  active  warfare,  he  knew 
the  grim  details  of  his  terrible  profession  very  thor 
oughly,  but  never  before  had  he  experienced  such  a 
heart-sickening  shock  as  when  he  looked  down  upon 
Lawrence  on  that  summer  day.  He  knew  at  a  glance 
what  had  happened  as  well  as  if  he  had  been  told.  It 
had  been  raided. 

A  town  that  is  burned  by  accident  looks  very  differ 
ent  in  its  ruins  from  the  town  that  is  burned  by  the 
hand  of  the  foe.  In  the  former  case  the  fire  burns  from 
one  great  centre,  and  the  inhabitants,  like  ants,  rudely 
disturbed  in  their  nests,  are  seen  hurrying  hither  and 
thither  in  endless  confusion.  The  town  that  is  pur 
posely  fired  burns  from  many  isolated  points — here, 
there,  everywhere — and  the  inhabitants,  if  there  are  any 
to  be  seen,  are  neither  noisy  nor  numerous.  Many  are 
dead,  more  have  fled,  and  those  that  remain  are  too 
terrified  and  too  overwhelmed  to  make  loud  lament.  A 
few  women  who  have  lost  all  may  be  heard  pitifully 
wailing  over  the  dead  bodies  of  their  husbands  and  sons, 
or  they  may  be  seen  miserably  searching  among  the 
282 


NANCY  MISSING  283 

blackened  ruins  of  their  homes  for  some  relic  more  pre 
cious  than  life. 

Where  was  Nancy?  An  awful  fear  clutched  at  his 
heart,  for  he  knew  that  although  war  is  not  waged 
against  women,  still  a  pretty  and  helpless  young  girl 
had  a  thousand  dangers  to  meet  in  the  sacking  of  a  town 
by  a  band  of  irregular  troops.  Alas,  poor  Charlie,  what 
a  home-coming  from  the  wars  was  this! 

Leaving  Aunt  Monin  with  the  wagon  and  horses  in 
the  woods  at  the  edge  of  the  town,  he  and  Sambo  went 
forward  cautiously,  not  knowing  what  might  be  the 
state  of  affairs.  Sambo,  not  the  bravest  of  mortals  as 
we  know,  was  from  his  inordinate  vanity  made  stalwart 
on  this  occasion.  He  would  not  show  cowardice  before 
Mas'r  Capting  Heaton,  and  marched  therefore  sturdily 
alongside  of  his  commanding  officer,  keeping  a  lynx- 
eyed  watch  on  every  side.  He  espied  the  skulking  fugi 
tives  in  the  brushwood  of  the  gorge,  and  at  first  thought 
them  the  enemy,  but  a  nearer  inspection  showed  him 
his  mistake.  The  people,  moreover,  were  beginning  to 
come  forth,  assured  as  they  were  by  the  women  that  the 
raiders  were  gone. 

Then  began  the  search  for  Nancy.  No  one  in  the 
distracted  groups  he  questioned  seemed  to  have  heard 
her  name,  or  else  they  had  lost  all  memory  of  everything 
except  their  own  immediate  sorrows.  Most  of  them 
indeed  were  looking  for  their  own  dead.  One  piteous 
father  was  frantically  tearing  at  the  red-hot  cinders  of 
his  own  house,  trying  to  find  some  trace  of  his  lost  son. 
Poor  father!  Better  for  him  if  a  kindly  earth  could 
have  hidden  what  he  found  from  his  sight,  leaving  him 
with  only  the  memory  of  his  son  living  and  in  the  first 
glow  of  his  young  manhood.  In  his  two  years  and  a 
half  of  soldiering  Heaton  had  more  than  once  searched 
a  battlefield.  He  had  sought  the  shattered  remnants  of 
his  company  after  the  repulse  from  Corinth.  lie  knew 
19 


284:  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

what  it  was  to  look  for  comrades  among  the  disfigured 
bodies  that  dotted  many  a  hard-fought  field.  His  heart 
was  not  hardened  by  his  war  experience,  but  his  nerves 
were  steadied,  so  that  he  could  look  on  unmoved  at 
awful  sights.  But  in  all  the  battlefields  he  had  searched 
it  was  only  for  soldiers  and  fighting  men  he  looked. 
He  had  never  hunted  among  the  dead  for  the  one 
he  loved  best  on  earth.  That  he  might  have  to  do 
among  the  blistering  ruins  of  Lawrence,  and  his  eyes 
were  blinded  with  a  burning  agony  of  tears  and  his 
hands  quivered  as  if  he  were  new  to  the  work  and  had 
not  seen  thousands  of  men  die  around  him  more  than 
once. 

It  could  not  be  that  Nancy,  whose  bright  young 
figure  rose  before  his  memory  so  distinctly,  was  among 
those  shapeless  and  charred  masses  that  people  were  be 
ginning  to  remove  from  among  the  ruins  of  the  burned 
buildings.  The  thought  was  too  horrible.  He  would 
not  let  it  come  into  his  mind.  Still,  amid  the  confusion 
he  could  not  find  any  one  who  knew  her  or  had  ever 
heard  of  her  little  eating  house,  and  thus  he  too  wan 
dered  up  and  down  Massachusetts  Street  half  distracted 
with  anxiety,  while  the  weeping  women  were  mourning 
over  their  dead  laid  out  on  the  pathway.  Sambo  rushed 
hither  and  thither  in  a  state  of  frantic  grief,  calling 
upon  all  and  sundry  to  give  him  information  with  truly 
irregulated  negro  vehemence.  By  this  time  even  the 
negroes  began  to  take  heart  of  grace  and  to  creep  forth 
out  of  their  hiding  places,  and  Sambo  immediately 
pounced  upon  a  couple,  demanding  to  know  "  whar  Miss 
Nancy  done  live?"  There  is  a  freemasonry  among 
negroes  and  a  power  of  quick  interchange  of  news  that 
amazes  white  people,  who  depend  on  the  papers  to  do 
this  for  them.  Sambo  demanded  news  of  the  darkies, 
and  they  instantly  supplied  it.  Thus  it  was  he  who  dis 
covered  where  the  little  eating  house  had  stood,  and 


NANCY  MISSING  285 

thither  he  and  Heaton  rushed  with  panting  eagerness. 
They  found  the  house  smoking  in  its  ruins,  and  lying 
in  the  yard  was  Susannah  where  she  had  fallen  when 
shot  by  the  Missourian.  The  near  approach  of  death 
had  cleared  the  blurred  vision  of  the  poor  creature. 
When  the  two  men  spoke  to  her  she  looked  up  and  in 
stantly  recognised  them. 

"  My  poor  woman,  can  I  help  you  ?  "  asked  Heaton 
pitifully. 

"  No,  Mas'r  Heaton,  Fse  mos'  done  wid  dish  wicked 
worlV 

"Who  are  you?"  asked  the  young  man,  astonished 
at  being  recognised. 

"  Fse  Miss  Nancy's  Susanner." 

"Where  is  she?"  gasped  he,  kneeling  down  beside 
her  to  catch  the  feeble  words.  "  Tell  me.  What  has 
become  of  her?  Did  she  escape?  " 

"  No,  Mas'r  Heaton,  she's  in  de  han's  o'  de  raiders. 
Dey  done  tote  her  off  on  hoss." 

"  Oh,  my  God!  "  cried  the  unfortunate  young  man 
to  whom  this  answer  carried  an  awful  significance. 

"  Which  way  did  they  go?  How  long  are  they  gone? 
Can  you  tell  me?" 

"  Dey  go  a  while  back,"  said  Susannah  faintly.  "  It 
war  Mas'r  Jeemes  Harte  what  done  de  raid.  I  seed  him 
ride  in." 

"  Dat  de  same  as  ole  man  Quantrell  what  run  we  uns 
off  an'  burn  Miss  Nancy's  farm,"  said  Sambo.  "  Mas'r 
Jeemes  won't  go  f er  ter  hurt  her,  'cause  he  wanted  ter 
marry  her  down  in  ole  Missouri." 

As  consolation  this  news  carried  a  sting  in  it  for 
Heaton. 

"  Sambo,  stay  with  this  poor  woman  and  do  what  you 
can  for  her.  I'm  going  to  start  the  pursuit,"  said 
Heaton  briefly.  "  Good-bye,  Susannah;  I'll  try  and 
bring  Miss  Nancy  back  to  you." 


286  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

He  walked  rapidly  off  in  the  direction  of  the  woods, 
where  his  wagon  and  horses  were. 

"  Sambo,  yo'  go  'long  too,"  said  Susannah.  "  IV 
can  len'  a  han'  in  de  fight.  Yo'  can't  do  nuffin  fer  me. 
Fse  gwine  dish  night  inter  paradise.  I  done  seed  my 
ole  man  what  war  killed  at  Mine  Creek.  He  mighty 
kin',  an'  he  heckon  ter  me  fer  ter  hurry  up.  An'  Sambo 
he  got  de  babby  in  de  arms,  an'  dat  chile  he  jess  as  fat 
an'  cute  as  he  can  be.  I'se  powerful  curious  fer  ter 
hurry  up,  an'  I  'low  I  ain't  gwine  ter  be  long  agoin'." 

The  dying  woman  began  to  babble  about  her  little 
baby.  Sambo  was  eager  to  follow  Mas'r  Heaton  and  to 
be  forward  in  the  rescue  of  Miss  Nancy,  but  dared  not 
disobey  orders.  He  hesitated  what  to  do.  At  this 
moment  a  small  darky  came  creeping  out  of  the  corn 
field.  This  was  the  redoubtable  Hercules,  who  seeing 
Sambo  standing  there  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
butternuts  must  be  gone  and  that  he  might  safely  ven 
ture  forth. 

"  Is  yo'  huntin'  fer  Miss  Nancy?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Yaas,  sonny,  come  hyar  an'  tell  me  whar  she  gone," 
said  Sambo  eagerly. 

"  Down  yonder,"  said  the  boy,  jerking  his  thumb 
over  his  shoulder  in  the  direction  of  the  river. 

"  War  dar  powerful  heap  on  'em?  " 

"  Nary  heap;  on'y  four  men.  I  seed  ?em  goin'  'long 
de  track  down  by  de  ribber.  I  seed  'em  from  de  corn- 
fiel'." 

Hercules  brought  some  water  in  his  hat  and  streamed 
it  over  the  dying  woman's  face  and  hands  to  cool  her 
burning  wounds,  but  she  was  past  all  suffering.  The 
water,  howrever,  seemed  to  revive  her  for  the  moment. 
Susannah,  who  had  appeared  all  but  dead,  opened  her 
eyes,  and,  seeing  the  two  negroes  there,  spoke  again: 

"  Sambo,  go  'long  an'  help  save  Miss  Nancy,"  she 
said  jerkily.  "  Tell  her  de  ole  mad  nigga  woman  ain't 


NANCY  MISSING  287 

mad  now.  She  gwine  ter  der  place  whar  de  Lo'd  keep 
her  babby-chile  safe  for  her.  Go  'long,  Sambo." 

She  relapsed  into  unconsciousness.  They  waited  for 
the  end.  Suddenly  raising  herself /she  spoke  in  a  loud 
clear  voice  that  startled  them  dreadfully. 

"  What  for  yo'  don't  go  an'  save  her?  De  raiders 
carry  her  down  to  de  big  ribber  whar  de  water  run  deep 
an'  swif .  Dey's  gwine  ter  drown  her.  Save  dat  po' 
chile." 

Sambo  gazed  at  her  in  a  fascinated  sort  of  fright  as 
she  sank  back  again.  She  was  evidently  breathing  her 
last. 

"  Yo'  nigga,"  exclaimed  Hercules,  gripping  Sambo 
by  the  arm,  "  dat  what  de  butternuts  gwine  ter  do. 
Dey's  gwine  ter  drown  Miss  Nancy.  Oh,  Lordy,  Lordy! 
Dey  hain't  toted  her  by  de  big  road  to  Franklin;  dey 
done  go  by  de  track  down  'long  de  ribber.  Ole  man  got 
de  rope  roun'  de  saddle  horn,  an'  dey  tie  her  han's 
behin'  her  back  an'  carry  her  oft'  on  de  brown  hoss. 
Lordy,  Lordy!  " 

"  Is  yo'  shu'?  "  asked  Sambo  in  a  terrified  voice. 

"  Dey's  gwine  ter  drown  her,"  sobbed  Hercules,  who 
was  very  much  attached  to  Nancy.  "  Drown  her  in  de 
deep  hole  roun'  beyon'  de  maple  trees  dar.  I  seed  de 
rope  on  de  saddle  horn." 

The  terrors  that  Hercules  expressed  with  such  ve 
hemence  infected  Sambo.  He  did  not  stay  to  reason. 
Miss  Nancy  was  in  danger,  and  he,  Sambo,  must  fly  to 
the  rescue.  His  firs£  and  only  idea  was  to  let  Captain 
Heaton  know.  He  captured  a  stray  mule  by  a  dexterity 
known  only  to  a  negro,  and,  leaping  upon  its  astonished 
back,  drove  it  by  means  of  his  flapping  hat  with  a  speed 
which  only  a  negro  can  get  out  of  a  mule. 

Believing  that  Nancy  was  in  the  hands  of  a  former 
lover  from  Missouri,  Heaton  could  not  bring  himself  to 
imagine  that  any  immediate  harm  would  come  to  her, 


288  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

whatever  might  be  the  distant  result.  Southern  men  did 
not  often  molest  women.  Therefore  his  plan  was  to 
organize  a  pursuit  as  rapidly  as  possible,  and  for  this 
purpose  he  was  proceeding  to  Blanton  in  order  to  as 
semble  men  whose  nerves  had  not  been  so  shaken  as  was 
the  case  with  the  newly  raided  citizens  of  Lawrence. 
He  thought  it  highly  probable  that  from  there  he  might, 
with  even  a  small  body  of  men,  intercept  the  raiders, 
who  would  infallibly  retreat  by  the  Franklin  road.  He 
had  not  gone  far  in  this  direction  when  he  was  over 
taken  by  the  frantic  Sambo  on  the  barebacked  mule. 

"  Lordy,  Lordy!  Mas'r  Capting  Heaton,  he  done  tote 
her  off  ter  der  ribber  fer  ter  drown  her.  Ole  Susanner 
and  de  nigga  tole  me  so/'  was  the  appalling  message  he 
delivered  as  soon  as  he  got  within  shouting  distance. 
Never  before  or  since  was  a  team  driven  with  such  furi 
ous  speed  as  when  Charlie  Heaton,  standing  up  in  his 
wagon,  lashed  his  horses  along  the  road  leading  to  the 
river  followed  by  Sambo,  urging  on  his  mule  with  his 
flapping  hat.  What  Heaton  intended  to  do  was  not  very 
clear  in  his  own  mind.  He  was  too  frantic  to  think  or 
make  any  plan.  Somewhere  along  that  river  bank  Nancy 
was  drowning,  and  he  would  save  her  or  perish  in  the 
attempt.  Men  joined  him  as  he  dashed  along,  men  who 
seemed  to  pick  up  the  news  from  the  air,  or  maybe  it 
was  from  Sambo  on  the  mule.  They  began  to  gather 
and  to  come  swiftly  by  that  pretty  road  that  skirts  the 
Kaw  River,  where  the  trees  dip  down  into  the  clear 
water  and  tone  its  reflecting  surface  with  their  brilliant 
tints.  A  man  coming  out  of  the  Bush,  and  recognising 
that  these  were  friends  that  now  swept  along,  hailed 
him. 

"  Stranger,  halt  there  a  minute.  There's  a  gang  o' 
bushwhackers  just  a  little  while  back  carried  a  girl  down 
to  the  bend  in  the  river.  They  were  all  pretty  drunk 
and  I » 


NANCY  MISSING  289 

Heaton  leaped  from  the  wagon. 

"Which  way?  Those  are  the  ones  we're  after.— 
Sambo,  here  take  this  knife  and  do  what  you  can  to  save 
Miss  Nancy."  Quick,  sharp,  and  soldierlike  were  his 
orders,  but  Heaton's  face  was  ghastly  to  look  upon  and 
his  eyes  glared.  His  long  thin  hands  were  like  eagle's 
claws  and  savagely  gripped  his  weapons.  He  and  Sambo 
crept  into  the  brushwood  in  the  direction  indicated  by 
their  informant.  After  them  came  Aunt  Monin,  crawl 
ing  along  like  a  fox,  making  no  noise.  Two  or  three 
more  had  come  up  by  this  time,  and  they  too  entered 
the  bush  at  different  points,  so  as  to  make  sure  of  catch 
ing  the  bushwhackers. 


CHAPTEE  XXIV 

THE   RESCUE 

WHEN  Nancy  had  been  led  by  her  ruffian  captors 
to  their  "  chief  "  she  had  at  first  experienced  a  feeling 
of  relief  on  beholding  that  he  was  none  other  than 
James  Harte.  The  name  of  Quantrell  had  filled  her 
with  well-founded  alarm,  but  when  she  saw  that  it  be 
longed  to  her  old  admirer  James  Harte  she  could  not 
help  feeling  that  he  at  least  would  allow  no  harm  to  be 
done  to  her.  Perhaps  this  might  have  been  so  had  Harte 
been  in  full  possession  of  his  faculties  at  this  moment, 
but  such  was  not  the  case.  Nancy  had  some  difficulty 
in  recognising  him  even,  he  was  so  altered  from  what 
he  had  been  a  few  days  before  when  he  had  made  her 
the  strange  offer  of  Lawrence  if  she  would  accept  him. 
She  understood  him  now,  and  she  realized  how  truth 
fully  exact  was  his  boast  that  he  held  the  town  in  the 
hollow  of  his  hand.  He  was  now  grimy-looking  and 
dirty  with  the  smoke  of  battle,  but  it  was  not  the  filth 
of  his  person  that  alarmed  Nancy,  it  was  the  awful 
bloodshot  glare  of  his  eye.  Standing  on  the  ruins  of 
the  town  he  had  destroyed,  he  was  giving  his  orders  for 
the  withdrawal  of  his  men  when  Nancy  was  brought  up. 

"  Take  everything  you  like  and  burn  the  rest;  then 
light  out  for  the  border." 

"Here's  suthin  ye'll  like  to  take  'long,  captain. 
She's  bin  givin'  information  to  folks  down  in  the  corn 
field  over  yonder.  Maybe  it's  militia's  thar,"  said  one  of 
290 


THE  RESCUE  291 

Nancy's  captors,  thrusting  her  forward  until  she  stood 
within  a  couple  of  feet  of  Quantrell.  He  glared  at  her 
with  a  savage  scowl. 

"  So,  ho!  You've  come  to  your  senses,  have  you?  " 
he  said  with  a  jerk  between  his  words  that  showed  he 
had  been  drinking. 

"James  Harte,  what  have  you  done?"  said  Nancy 
sternly,  hoping  to  overawe  him  with  the  steadiness  of 
her  manner.  Poor  girl!  If  that  "was  her  only  defence  it 
was  not  worth  much. 

"  I'm  Quantrell,  by  thunder!  Let  no  one  dare  to 
call  me  anything  else  or  I'll  let  the  daylight  into  him 
pretty  quick,"  was  his  answer,  which  showed  Nancy  that 
to  try  and  reason  with  him  in  his  present  condition  was 
utterly  useless,  and  might  be  very  dangerous.  She  looked 
helplessly  around  the  group,  but  every  face  bore  the  mark 
of  that  increase  of  savagery  that  is  obtained  by  a  free 
use  and  abuse  of  whisky.  Silence  was  the  safest  thing 
for  her  under  these  circumstances.  Accordingly,  she  re 
mained  silent  while  the  final  orders  were  being  given. 
Then  she  was  hoisted  on  to  a  horse  in  front  of  a  big 
man  who  spoke  only  a  few  words,  but  these  betrayed  his 
German  origin.  This  individual  appeared  to  be  Quan- 
trell's  right-hand  man. 

A  helter-skelter  troop  streamed  out  of  Lawrence, 
a  good  many  taking  the  Franklin  road,  others  again 
going  almost  due  east.  To  break  up  the  band  seemed 
to  be  their  purpose,  so  that  each  party  might  the  more 
readily  escape  into  Missouri  with  the  booty.  A  few  well- 
loaded  wagons  moved  forward  as  fast  as  possible,  fol 
lowed  by  a  rabble  on  horseback,  for  the  men  were  now 
so  drunk  and  noisy  they  had  lost  all  semblance  of  mili 
tary  order  and  discipline.  Some  distance  behind  this 
last  band  came  Quantrell  with  his  captive,  his  German 
lieutenant,  and  a  few  others.  Nancy  had  no  other 
thought  but  that  they  would  carry  her  off  into  Missouri, 


292  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

and  she  hoped  that  when  once  there  better  feelings 
would  prevail,  and  that  she  might  eventually  be  set  free. 
But  when  she  saw  that  her  captors  were  leaving  both  the 
Franklin  road  and  the  main  body  of  their  party,  and 
were  making  for  the  river  by  a  track  that  followed  its 
banks,  her  heart  gave  a  great  throb  of  terror.  They 
were  not  going  to  take  her  into  Missouri. 

What  were  they  going  to  do  with  her? 

She  asked  the  German  who  was  riding  behind  her  on 
the  big  horse,  but  he  only  laughed,  and  his  laugh  had 
an  evil  sound  in  it.  He,  like  the  rest,  reeked  of  whisky. 
She  made  a  sudden  movement  as  if  to  throw  herself 
from  the  horse,  and  found  to  her  dismay  that  not  only 
were  her  hands  bound,  but  that  she  was  also  tied  to  the 
German  by  a  rope  around  his  waist.  She  did  not  know 
when  he  had  slipped  the  cord  around  her.  She  tried 
to  look  back  at  Quantrell,  but  he  was  riding  straight 
behind,  and  she  could  only  hear  the  tapping  of  his 
horse's  feet  on  the  ground. 

By  and  bye  they  reached  the  river  flowing  along 
under  the  sunlit  trees.  It  flashed  across  her  that  they 
were  going  to  drown  her  in  their  drunken  fury  and  rage. 
Therefore  they  had  brought  her  to  this  lonely  spot,  so 
as  to  be  out  of  reach  of  the  possible  pity  and  interfer 
ence  of  the  less  savage  of  the  raiders.  She  was  young, 
and  the  smooth-gliding,  treacherous  river  would  soon 
close  over  her  and  tell  no  tale.  A  choking  lump  rose  in 
her  throat.  This,  then,  was  the  end.  She  had  come 
here  to  die  alone.  It  was  not  maybe  the  worst  fate  that 
might  befall  her.  She  would  meet  death  calmly,  and 
her  haughty  spirit  rose.  She  would  not  lower  herself  to 
beg  her  life  from  these  drunken  ruffians.  Her  prayers 
would  be  rare  sport  for  them  to  flout.  She  could  and 
she  would  balk  them  of  that  brutal  delight. 

They  followed  along  by  the  river  brink  for  some  way 
until  they  came  to  a  sort  of  clearing  where  a  wood- 


THE  RESCUE  293 

cutter  must  have  lately  been  at  work,  for  a  cord  of  wood 
was  piled  near  by.  Here  they  dismounted,  lifted  her 
from  her  horse  and  tied  her  to  a  tree.  They  were  four 
men  who  now  confronted  Nancy — James  Harte,  the 
sullen  German,  and  two  others — all  four  more  or  less 
drunk.  The  two  who  were  more  drunk  were  perhaps  a 
shade  less  cruel  than  the  two  who  retained  more  of  the 
tiger  in  their  rage. 

"  Well,"  said  James  Harte,  speaking  with  less  firm 
ness  and  rapidity  of  enunciation  than  Nancy  had  ever 
heard  him  speak  before,  "  I  reckon  you  know  now  I'm 
a  man  of  my  word,  don't  you?  " 

Nancy  looked  at  him  with  wide-eyed  terror,  but  did 
not  reply  to  this  vague  question. 

"  I  offered  you  Lawrence  if  you'd  marry  me,  didn't 
I?  Offered  you  many  lives,  didn't  I,  if  you'd  say  yes 
and  marry  me  ?  " 

"  And  I  said  no,"  answered  Nancy  firmly,  meeting 
his  gaze  unflinchingly. 

"  You  did.  Reckon  you  thought  I  wasn't  going  to 
keep  my  word;  but  I  did.  I  offered  you  all  those  lives 
for  your  answer.  I'm  coming  down  in  my  bargain  now. 
I'll  offer  you  only  one  life  to-day — your  own.  Maybe 
that'll  make  you  listen  to  reason.  Will  you  marry  me, 
Nancy?" 

He  pointed  with  dread  significance  to  the  river. 
"  It's  your  own  life  against  the  answer.  Remember 
that." 

"  No,  I  will  never  marry  you.  Ruffian!  Murderer! 
Drown  me  if  you  will;  I  can  die." 

Her  lips  were  colourless,  but  they  neither  faltered 
nor  trembled  as  she  hurled  out  her  defiance. 

Harte  uttered  a  savage  oath.  He  seemed  to  hesitate 
a  moment,  looked  around,  and,  going  up  to  the  wood 
pile,  said: 

"  That's  your  answer,  is  it?     Well,  this  is  mine." 


294  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

He  began  to  pull  down  the  logs  of  wood  from  the 
pile,  muttering  something  to  the  German,  who  helped 
him.  The  other  two  looked  sulkily  on,  taking  no  part 
one  way  or  the  other. 

Nancy  had  nerved  herself  to  meet  death  calmly  and 
with  dignity,  but  it  was  death  by  drowning,  where  the 
merciful  river  would  receive  her  into  its  bosom,  and  in 
a  moment  or  two  would  close  her  life  without  sharp 
agony.  She  had  not  summoned  her  nerve  to  meet  an 
other  and  far  more  horrible  death. 

A  wild  cry  burst  from  her  colourless  lips. 
"0   God!     Are  you  going  to  burn  me  to  death? 
Are  you  men  born  of  women  that  you  can  stand  and 
look  on  such  a  deed  as  that?"  she  added,  appealing  to 
the^two  who  seemed  mere  spectators  of  the  scene. 

"  No,  I  reckon  I  won't  look  on/'  replied  one  of  the 
pair.  '  This  ain't  what  I  joined  this  ride  for.  I'm  go 
ing  to  git,  I  am." 

He  walked  deliberately  off,  mounted  his  horse,  and 
rode  away  without  once  turning  his  head.  His  com 
panion  seemed  undecided  what  to  do.  Quantrell  and 
the  German  dragged  the  logs  to  the  river's  edge,  and  the 
latter  laughed  as  he  did  so.  Quantrell  was  a  man  of 
fierce  passions  which  three  years  of  border  ruffianism 
had  brutalized,  but  he  would  never  have  done  what  he 
did  had  he  not  been  inflamed  by  drink.  He  was  enraged 
against  Nancy,  and  his  reason  being  obscured  by  drink, 
he  did  not  distinctly  understand  what  he  was  doing,' 
nor  the  full  savagery  of  the  act.  The  German's  head 
was  steadier;  he,  though  also  drunk,  understood  quite 
well  what  was  on  foot. 

"Reckon  I'll  sorter  stan'  sentry  down  thar  on  the 
road,  so  as  ter  keep  folks  from  spilin'  this  picnic  party," 
observed  the  third  ruffian,  who  had  been  standing  look 
ing  on  with  slight  show  of  interest  in  the  proceedings  of 
the  other  two.  He  accordingly  walked  off,  leading  his 


THE  RESCUE  295 

horse  away  through  the  trees,  leaving  Nancy  alone 
with  the  two  men  from  whose  rage  she  had  most  to 
dread. 

The  poor  girl  lived  through  a  liftime  of  agony  as 
her  terrified  eyes  fixed  in  an  awful  stare  gazed  at  them 
pulling  about  the  logs. 

They  made  a  platform  of  the  timber,  tying  the  logs 
together  with  their  lariat  ropes,  and  when  thus  tied 
they  began  to  heave  them  into  the  water  by  means  of  a 
couple  of  poles.  Once  floating  in  the  river,  the  logs  of 
course  spread  out  level  and  presented  the  upper  surface 
of  an  uneven  raft.  A  couple  of  light  boughs  were  added 
transversely,  and  these  two  were  also  tied  down  to  the 
rest  of  the  logs.  When  the  raft  was  thus  complete  the 
men  laughed  and  seemed  pleased  at  their  work.  Then 
they  came  to  their  prisoner  tied  to  the  tree,  unfastened 
her,  and  rapidly  placing  her  on  the  raft,  shoved  it  off 
into  the  river  by  means  of  their  poles. 

So  quick  had  been  the  climax  that  Nancy  had 
scarcely  time  to  realize  that  they  were  not  going  to  burn 
her  alive,  as  she  at  first  imagined,  before  she  found  her 
self  floating  down  the  Kaw  Eiver  on  this  frail  bark. 
Her  weight  sent  the  logs  down  farther  into  the  water, 
which  rippled  up  between  the  openings  and  splashed 
around  the  ends.  The  current  caught  her  and  swung 
her  soon  into  the  middle  of  the  stream,  as,  huddled  in  a 
heap  with  her  face  hidden  in  her  hands,  she  started  on 
her  fearsome  voyage.  The  two  men  laughed  loud  and 
long,  as  though  they  relished  the  complete  success  of 
their  enterprise — a  laugh  that  was  heard  by  a  stealthy 
negro  creeping  along  in  the  brushwood. 

That  stealthy  negro  was  Sambo,  who,  realizing  that 
he  was  nearing  some  one,  and  most  probably  the  very 
men  they  were  in  search  of,  crept  off  to  warn  Heaton, 
who  was  beating  the  bush  close  along  the  water's  edge 
a  little  way  back. 


296  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

"  Mas'r  capting,  I  'specks  dey's  yonder/'  said  Sambo 
in  a  quick  whisper.  "  I  hearn  'em  laugh,  an'  dar's 
hosses  too." 

Together  they  now  crept  forward  cautiously,  not 
knowing  how  many  men  there  might  be.  A  sudden  sur 
prise  was  their  only  chance.  They  heard  the  sound  of 
horses  as  they  came  to  the  little  clearing  where  the 
wood  pile  was  all  scattered  about. 

"  There  isn't  any  one  here.  You've  made  a  mis 
take/'  said  Heaton,  preparing  to  rush  on  in  further 
search. 

"  Dey  was  here,  mas'r.  Dem's  fresh  tracks/'  said 
Sambo,  with  negro  instinct  at  once  examining  the 
ground.  "  Dish  hyar  water's  muddy.  Dey's  bin  f oolin' 
in  de  ribber."  He  went  to  the  water's  edge,  peering 
on  the  ground.  Heaton  examined  the  bank  with  fever 
ish  haste. 

Suddenly  Sambo  nearly  jumped  into  the  river. 

"  Lordy,  mas'r,  see  dat  dar!  Dar's  a  woman  out  on 
de  planks.  Look  dar,  gwine  down  de  ribber!  Lordy, 
it's  Miss  Nancy!  " 

Heaton  looked,  but  with  eyes  that  could  not  compete 
with  a  darky's  telescopic  vision.  He  saw,  indeed,  some 
thing  on  the  water  floating  downstream. 

Sambo  screamed  with  excitement. 

"  Dat  dar  Miss  Nancy  fo'  shu'.  De  nigga  boy  said 
dey  was  gwine  ter  drown  her,  and  dat's  de  way  dey 
done  it!  " 

"  Miss  Nancy,  yo  ho ! "  he  bawled  as  loud  as  he 
could,  and  Heaton  too  yelled,  but  the  huddled  figure  on 
the  raft  did  not  move.  Aunt  Monin  and  a  couple  of 
men  now  came  up  through  the  bush  and  were  added 
to  the  party. 

"  Yo*,  Aunt  Monin,  ain't  dat  dar  a  woman?  "  asked 
Sambo,  catching  her  by  the  arm  and  pointing  to 
that  moving  object  on  the  face  of  the  waters.  Aunt 


THE  RESCUE  297 

Monin  brought  her  far-sighted  old  eyes  to  bear  upon 
it  for  a  moment,  and  said: 

"  Dat  my  honey-chile!  " 

Then  she,  too,  sent  a  loud  cry  down  the  river  after 
that  forlorn  figure  on  the  raft.  Heaton  fired  a  couple 
of  shots  to  attract  her  attention,  but  Nancy  had  heard 
too  many  cries  and  pistol  shots  on  that  fearsome  day 
for  her  numbed  brain  to  take  any  cognizance  of  either 
the  one  or  the  other.  She  never  moved,  but  crouched 
despairingly  on  her  narrow  raft. 

Then  Aunt  Monin  came  and  stood  in  the  very  edge 
of  the  water,  and,  raising  her  old  head  high  in  the  air, 
began  to  sing  an  old  lullaby  song  with  which  long  ago 
she  used  to  hush  Nancy  to  sleep.  She  had  sung  that 
tune  hundreds  of  times  to  her  foster  child  in  the  old 
days  in  Missouri,  but  never  had  she  sung  it  as  she  did  on 
this  day,  when  her  high-pitched,  quavering  old  voice 
seemed  filled  with  a  more  than  human  strength,  as 
she  sent  the  sounds  wailing  over  the  waters.  Again 
and  again  she  repeated  the  familiar  refrain  which 
crossed  the  river  and  seemed  to  echo  back  from 
the  woods  beyond.  Downstream  went  the  sound  too, 
hurrying  after  Nancy,  vibrating  with  familiar  energy 
upon  her  dazed  brain,  and  waking  hope  at  last  in 
her  despairing  heart.  The  sounds  came  she  knew 
not  whence — from  heaven,  maybe — but  Nancy  heard, 
and  hearing,  looked  up  and  raised  her  head  from  her 
hands. 

And  thus  she  floated  out  of  sight  around  a  bend  in 
the  river,  while  old  Aunt  Monin  sang  on  to  the  woods 
and  her  own  heart. 

She  was  alone,  for  Heaton  was  wildly  dashing  along 
the  road  on  one  of  his  horses,  while  Sambo  followed  on 
another.  There  was  a  sawmill,  he  was  told,  farther 
down,  where  he  could  get  planks  and  boards,  for  boats 
there  were  none  on  the  Kaw  River,  On,  on,  they  rode, 


298  THE  JAY-HAWKERS 

their  horses  answering  to  the  desperate  whip,  and  after 
them  came  an  ever-gathering  troop. 

A  Lawrence  woman  out  on  the  river!  Cast  adrift 
there  to  perish  by  the  raiders! 

The  woods  gave  up  their  hiding  fugitives,  and  they 
too  joined  in  the  rush  for  the  sawmill,  but  none  could 
overtake  those  two  who  rode  so  furiously  in  front. 

With  hurried,  panting  words  the  news  was  soon  told, 
and  eager  hands  were  shoving  planks  into  the  river  and 
lashing  them  together.  Heaton,  with  a  board  in  his 
hands  and  Sambo  with  another  had  hardly  pushed  off, 
when  a  shout  came  from  higher  up  the  banks:  "  She's 
coming!  She's  coming!  " 

It  was  all  they  could  do  with  their  clumsy  paddles 
to  bring  their  raft  into  the  middle  of  the  current  and 
to  keep  it  steady,  while  with  straining  eyes  they  sought 
to  catch  sight  of  that  frail  bark  with  its  precious 
freight. 

A  small  dark  speck  upon  the  shining  river,  floating 
down  in  midstream.  How  their  hearts  beat  as  they 
watched  it  coming  nearer  and  nearer,  until  they  could 
discern  the  little  figure  on  the  raft! 

It  was  Nancy  kneeling  with  clasped  hands,  her  long 
black  hair  falling  over  her  shoulders  like  a  mantle. 
The  raft  neither  swayed  this  way  nor  that,  but  steadily 
pursued  its  course  down  the  middle  of  the  river,  where 
that  other  raft  was  waiting  to  catch  the  poor  castaway. 

Heaton  carefully  gauged  its  direction  and  stood  fair 
in  its  course,  as  it  floated  down  nearer  and  ever  nearer. 
The  moment  it  came  within  reach,  lying  fullstretch  on 
his  own  raft,  he  seized  a  corner  of  the  other,  and,  quick 
ly  passing  a  rope  round  the  end  log,  lashed  it  in  two 
places  firmly  to  his  own.  Then  he  crept  along  the  raft 
until  he  was  beside  Nancy,  who  seemed  all  the  time  as 
one  in  a  dream. 

The  successive  terrors  of  the  day  had  nearly  be- 


THE  RESCUE  299 

numbed  the  poor  girl's  brain,  so  that  when  she  heard 
the  voice  of  her  lover  pouring  disjointed  words  of  love 
and  thankfulness  into  her  ears,  she  thought  for  a  mo 
ment  that  the  bitterness  of  dying  must  be  passed,  and 
that  they  had  met  on  the  other  side  of  the  river  of 
death. 

With  infinite  tenderness  Heaton  supported  the  poor 
little  form  in  his  loving  arms,  as  the  united  rafts,  guid 
ed  by  Sambo,  moved  slowly  athwart  the  stream  and  were 
brought,  lower  down,  safe  to  shore. 

Some  weeks  later,  in  one  of  the  unburned  houses  of 
Lawrence,  a  small  party  was  assembled  to  witness  a  wed 
ding.  Aunt  Monin  was  superintending  that  wedding, 
so  we  can  guess  whose  it  was,  and  she  was  instructing 
the  minister  who  was  to  perform  the  ceremony  as  to 
what  he  was  to  say  in  his  nuptial  discourse. 

"  An'  yo'  had  oughter  'sist  'pon  de  fac'  how  de  Lo'd 
he  'p'int  his  own  way  fer  ter  'venge  himself,"  she  ob 
served,  to  the  entire  mystification  of  the  poor  man. 
"  He  don't  go  fer  tcr  'venge  one  killin'  by  anudder,  like 
poor  foolish  man  does.  Dat  ain't  de  way  o'  de  Lo'd. 
He  cleanse  de  ban'  o'  dc  blood  o'  de  father  by  lettin'  it 
save  de  chile.  Dat  de  way  o'  spiation  he  'p'inted  in  his 
wisdom." 

Needless  to  say,  these  points  were  not  emphasized  in 
the  discourse  delivered  by  the  minister,  an  omission 
which  surprised  Aunt  Monin,  but  one  which  she  re 
solved  to  supplement  at  the  first  opportunity. 

It  was  a  fine  sight  to  behold  her  in  a  most  glorious 
new  turban,  standing  behind  her  honey-chile  on  this 
supreme  day  when  she  was  going  to  be  united  to  the 
choice  of  her  heart.  Aunt  Monin,  impressionable  like 
all  her  race,  was  full  of  excitement  and  feeling.  Great 
tears  flowed  down  her  black  cheeks  as  she  stood  behind 
her  mistress,  as  quaint  a  bridesmaid  as  ever  graced  a 
20 


300  THE  JAY-IIAWKERS 

wedding.  Her  towering  form,  with  its  flaming  topknot, 
entirely  overshadowed  Nancy,  and  went  a  good  ways  to 
ward  eclipsing  Captain  Heaton  himself,  tall  as  he  was. 

She  wiped  away  the  fast-falling  tears  with  her  big 
apron,  and,  turning  a  stern  eye  upon  Sambo,  who  was 
doing  duty  as  groomsman,  said,  in  a  voice  clearly  audi 
ble  to  every  one  present: 

"  Yo',  Sambo,  why  don't  yo'  'joice?  Dish  hyar's 
Miss  Nancy's  weddin',  an'  if  I  cotch  yo'  snufTlin'  I'll 
bust  ycr  two  eyes  inter  one." 


THE    END 


"A  FRESH  AND  CHARMING  NOVEL/' 

The  Last  Lady  of  Mulberry. 

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A  Romance  of  Old  Antwerp. 

"  A  romance  of  Antwerp  in  the  days  of  the 
Spanish  oppression.  Mr.  Lee  handles  it  in  vigor 
ous  fashion." — London  Spectator. 

"  This  is  a  fascinating  specimen  of  the  historical 
romance  at  its  best,  the  romance  which  infuses 
energetic  life  into  the  dry  facts  of  history." — 
Philadelphia  Press. 

D.     APPLETON      AND     COMPANY,     NEW    YORK. 


BOOKS   BY   FRANK   T.   BULLEN. 
The  Log  of  a  Sea-Waif. 

Being  Recollections  of  the   First  Four  Years  of  my  Sea   Life. 
Illustrated.      Uniform  Edition.      I  zmo.      Cloth,  $1.50. 

The  brilliant  author  of  "The  Cruise  of  the  Cachalot"  and  "Idylls  of  the 
Sea"  presents  in  this  new  work  the  continuous  story  of  the  actual  experiences 
of  his  first  four  years  at  sea.  In  graphic  and  picturesque  phrases  he  has  sketched 
the  events  of  voyages  to  the  West  Indies,  to  Bombay  and  the  Coromandel  coast, 
to  Melbourne  and  Rangoon.  Nothing  could  be  of  more  absorbing  interest 
than  this  wonderfully  vivid  account  of  foks'l  humanity,  and  the  adventures  and 
strange  sights  and  experiences  attendant  upon  deep-sea  voyages.  It  is  easy  to  see 
in  this  book  an  English  companion  to  our  own  "Two  Years  before  the  Mast." 

Idylls  of  the  Sea. 

I  zmo.      Cloth,  $1.25. 

"The  'deep-sea  wonder  and  mystery'  which  Kipling  found  in  Frank  T. 
Bullen's  'Cruise  of  the  Cachalot'  is  appreciable  again  in  this  literary  mate's 
new  book,  'Idylls  of  the  Sea.'  We  feel  ourselves  tossed  with  him  at  the 
mercy  of  the  weltering  elements,"  etc. — Philadelphia  Record. 

"  Amplifies  and  intensifies  the  picture  of  the  sea  which  Mr.  Bullen  had 
already  produced.  .  .  .  Calm,  shipwreck,  the  surface  and  depths  of  the  sea, 
the  monsters  of  the  deep,  superstitions  and  tales  of  the  sailors — all  find  a  place 
in  this  strange  and  exciting  book." — Chicago  Times-Herald. 

The  Cruise  of  the  Cachalot, 

Round  the  World  after  Sperm  Whales.       Illustrated.       I  zmo. 
Cloth,  $1.50. 

"It  is  immense — there  is  no  other  word.  I've  never  read  anything  that 
equals  it  in  its  deep-sea  wonder  and  mystery,  nor  do  I  think  that  any  book  before 
has  so  completely  covered  the  whole  business  of  whale  fishing,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  given  such  real  and  new  sea  pictures.  I  congratulate  you  most  heartily. 
It's  a  new  world  you've  opened  the  door  to." — Rudyard  Kipling. 

lt  Written  with  racy  freedom  of  literary  expression  and  luxuriant  abundance 
of  incident,  so  that  '  The  Cruise  of  the  Cachalot '  becomes  a  story  of  fascinating 
vividness  which  thrills  the  reader  and  amuses  him.  The  volume  is  no  less  en 
thralling  than  'Two  Years  before  the  Mast,'  and  higher  praise  can  not  be 
accorded  to  a  story  of  the  sea.  ...  A  book  of  such  extraordinary  merit  as 
seldom  comes  to  hand." — Philadelphia  Press. 

D.     APPLETON     AND     COMPANY,     NEW     YORK. 


BOOKS  BY  CY  WARMAN. 


Snow  on  the  Headlight. 

A  Story  of  the  Great  Burlington  Strike,     i  2mo.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

"  Mr.  Warman  holds  a  unique  position  among  our  tellers  of  tales,  since  he 
alone  is  a  practical  railroad  man,  who  knows  the  work,  and  has  done  it,  in  all 
its  details. ' ' — New  York  Mail  and  Express. 

"  Plenty  of  close-range  photographs,  interior  views,  of  the  great  Burlington 
strike  are  to  be  found  in  Cy  Warman's  book." — Philadelphia  Times. 

"  It  has  the  great  virtue  of  being  a  plain  story  plainly  told  by  one  who 
knows.  Whatever  other  impression  it  may  convey  to  the  reader,  it  conveys 
most  strongly  the  impression  of  truth.  And  this  plain  truth,  told  in  a  plain 
way,  is  a  terrible  thing.  One  can  feel  all  the  way  through  that  half  the  tale — 
and  perhaps  the  worst  half — is  left  untold,  yet  such  as  stands  in  print  is 
sufficient,  and  to  the  reader  who  cares  for  something  more  than  the  superficial 
adventurous  incident  of  the  book  it  will  not  be  without  its  instructive 
influence." — Denver  Republican. 

"  Told  with  all  the  freshness  and  vividness  of  an  eyewitness." — Philadelphia 
Call. 

"  Will  be  read  with  interest  by  all  railroad  men." — Galesburg  (I/I.)  Mail. 

The  Story  of  the  Railroad. 

Illustrated.      I  zmo.      Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  Far  more  interesting  than  the  average  novel.  .  .  .  Mr.  Warman' s 
volume  makes  us  hear  and  feel  the  rush  of  modern  civilization.  It  gives  us 
also  the  human  side  of  the  picture — the  struggles  of  the  frontiersman  and  his 
family,  the  dismay  and  cruel  wrath  of  the  retreating  savage,  the  heroism  of 
the  advance  guard  of  the  railway  builders,  and  the  cutthroat  struggles  of  com 
peting  lines.  He  does  not  deal  greatly  with  statistics,  but  the  figures  he  uses 
help  make  up  the  stunning  effect  of  gigantic  enterprise.  There  is  not  a  dull 
page  in  the  book." — Neiv  York  Evening  Pott. 

"Intensely  interesting — a  history  that  reads  like  a  romance,  and  compared 
with  whose  marvelous  story  indeed  most  modern  romances  will  seem  spiritless 
and  tame." — Charleston  Neius  and  Courier. 

"Worthy  to  stand  on  the  same  shelf  with  Hough's  Story  of  the  Cowboy." 
— Milwaukee*  Journal. 

D-     APPLETON      AND     COMPANY,     NEW    YORK. 


BY  ELEANOR    STUART. 


Averages. 

A  Novel  of  Modern  New  York.      i2mo.     Cloth, 
$1.50. 

"To  picture  a  scheming  woman  who  is  also  attractive  and 
even  lovable  is  not  an  easy  task.  .  .  .  To  have  made  such  a 
woman  plausible  and  real  in  the  midst  of  modern  New  York  life 
is  what  Miss  Stuart  has  achieved  in  this  novel.  And  the  other 
characters  reach  a  similar  reality.  They  are  individuals  and  not 
types,  and,  moreover,  they  are  not  literary  echoes.  For  a  writer 
to  manage  this  assortment  of  original  characters  with  that  cool 
deliberation  which  keeps  aloof  from  them,  but  remorselessly 
pictures  them,  is  a  proof  of  literary  insight  and  literary  skill.  It 
takes  work  as  well  as  talent.  The  people  of  the  story  are  real, 
plausible,  modern  creatures,  with  the  fads  and  weaknesses  of 
to-day."— N.  T.  Life. 

"The  strength  of  the  book  is  its  entertaining  pictures  of 
human  nature  and  its  shrewd,  incisive  observations  upon  the 
social  problems,  great  and  small,  which  present  themselves  in  the 
complex  life  of  society  in  the  metropolis.  Those  who  are  fond 
of  dry  wit,  a  subtle  humor,  and  what  Emerson  calls  *  a  philos 
ophy  of  insight  and  not  of  tradition,'  will  find  'Averages'  a 
novel  to  their  taste.  .  .  .  There  are  interesting  love  episodes 
and  clever,  original  situations.  An  author  capable  of  such  work 
is  to  be  reckoned  with.  She  has  in  her  the  root  of  the  mat-' 
ter. " — N.  T.  Mail  and  Express. 

Stonepastures. 

T2mo.     Cloth,  75  cents. 

"  The  story  is  strongly  written,  there  being  a  decided  Bronte 
flavor  about  its  style  and  English.  It  is  thoroughly  interesting 
and  extremely  vivid  in  its  portrayal  of  actual  life." — Boston 
Courier. 

D.     APPLETON     AND      COMPANY,     NEW     YORK. 


DAVID    HARUM. 


A  Story  of  American  Life.  By  EDWARD  NOYES 
WESTCOTT.  I2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  David  Harum  deserves  to  be  known  by  all  good  Americans; 
he  is  one  of  them  in  boundless  energy,  in  large-heartedness,  in 
shrewdness,  and  in  humor." — The  Critic,  New  York. 

"We  have  in  the  character  of  David  Harum  a  perfectly 
clean  and  beautiful  study,  one  of  those  true  natures  that  every 
one,  man,  woman,  or  child,  is  the  better  for  knowing." — The 
World,  Cleveland. 

"The  book  continues  to  be  talked  of  increasingly.  It  seems 
to  grow  in  public  favor,  and  this,  after  all,  is  the  true  test  of 
merit."  —  The  Tribune,  Chicago. 

"  A  thoroughly  interesting  bit  of  fiction,  with  a  well-defined 
plot,  a  slender  but  easily  followed  f  love  '  interest,  some  bold  and 
finely  sketched  character  drawing,  and  a  perfect  gold  mine  of 
shrewd,  dialectic  philosophy." — The  Call,  San  Francisco. 

"The  newsboys  on  the  street  can  talk  of  <  David  Harum/ 
but  scarcely  a  week  ago  we  heard  an  intelligent  girl  of  fifteen,  in 
a  house  which  entertains  the  best  of  the  daily  papers  and  the 
weekly  reviews,  ask,  *  Who  is  Kipling?'" — The  Literary 
World,  Boston. 

"  A  masterpiece  of  character  painting.  In  David  Harum, 
the  shrewd,  whimsical,  horse-trading  country  banker,  the  author 
has  depicted  a  type  of  character  that  is  by  no  means  new  to  fic 
tion,  but  nowhere  else  has  it  been  so  carefully,  faithfully,  and 
realistically  wrought  out." — The  Herald,  Syracuse. 

"We  give  Edward  Noyes  Westcott  his  true  place  in  Amer 
ican  letters — placing  him  as  a  humorist  next  to  Mark  Twain,  as 
a  master  of  dialect  above  Lowell,  as  a  descriptive  writer  equal  to 
Bret  Harte,  and,  on  the  whole,  as  a  novelist  on  a  par  with  the 
best  of  those  who  live  and  have  their  being  in  the  heart  of  hearts 
of  American  readers.  If  the  author  is  dead — lamentable  fact — 
his  book  will  live." — Philadelphia  Item. 

D.     APPLETON      AND      COMPANY,      NEW     YORK. 


FELIX  GRAS'S  ROMANCES. 


The  White   Terror. 

A  Romance.  Translated  from  the  Provencal  by  Mrs. 
Catharine  A.  Janvier.  Uniform  with  "  The  Reds  of  the 
Midi "  and  "  The  Terror."  i6mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  No  one  has  done  this  kind  of  work  with  finer  poetic  grasp  or  more 
convincing  truthfulness  than  Felix  Gras.  ...  1  his  new  volume  has  the 
spontaneity,  the  vividness,  the  intensity  of  Interest  of  a  great  historical 
romance. " — Philadelphia  Times. 

The  Terror. 

A  Romance  of  the  French  Revolution.  Uniform  with 
''The  Reds  of  the  Midi."  Translated  by  Mrs.  Catharine 
A.  Janvier.  i6mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  If  F61ix  Gras  had  never  done  any  other  work  than  this  novel,  it  would 
at  once  give  him  a  place  in  the  front  rank  of  the  writers  of  to-day.  .  .  .  '  The 
Terror '  is  a  story  that  deserves  to  be  widely  read,  for,  while  it  is  of  thrilling 
interest,  holding  the  reader's  attention  closely,  there  is  about  it  a  literary 
quality  that  makes  it  worthy  of  something  more  than  a  careless  perusal." — 
Brooklyn  Eagle. 

The  Reds  of  the   Midi. 

An  episode  of  the  French  Revolution.  Translated  from 
the  Provencal  by  Mrs.  Catharine  A.  Janvier.  With  an 
Introduction  by  Thomas  A.  Janvier.  With  Frontispiece. 
i6mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

"I  have  read  with  great  and  sustained  interest  'The  Reds  of  the 
South,'  which  you  were  good  enough  to  present  to  me.  Though  a  work  of 
fiction,  it  aims  at  painting  the  historical  features,  and  such  works  if  faith 
fully  executed  throw  more  lieht  than  many  so-called  histories  on  the  true 
roots  and  causes  of  the  Revolution,  which  are  so  widely  and  so  gravely  mis 
understood.  As  a  novel  it  seems  to  me  to  be  written  with  great  skill." — 
William  E.  Gladstone. 

D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


IMPORTANT  NEW  NOVELS. 


Snow  on  the  Headlight. 

By  CY  WARMAN,  author  of  "The  Story  of  the   Railroad,"  etc 
I2mo.      Cloth,  $1.25. 

"  As  a  writer  of  tales  of  the  modern  rail   Mr.  Warman  is  without  a  peer.' 
— Philadelphia  Record. 

A  Double  Thread. 

By    ELLEN   THORNEYCROFT    FOWLER,    author    of  "Concerning 
Isabel   Carnaby,"  etc.       I  zmo.       Cloth,  $1.50. 

*'  Even  more  gay,  clever,  and  bright  than  *  Concerning  Isabel  Carnaby.'  " 
— Boston  Herald. 

A  Duet,  with  an  Occasional  Chorus. 

By  A.  CONAN  DOYLE,  author  of**  Uncle   Bernac,"  **  Brigadier 
Gerard,"  etc.      1 2mo.      Cloth,  $1.50. 

"It  is  all  very  sweet  and  graceful." — London  Telegraph. 

The  Mormon  Prophet. 

By  LILY  DOUGALL,   author  of  **  The  Mermaids,"  "  The  Ma 
donna  of  a  Day,"  etc.       i  2mo.      Cloth,  $1.50. 

"A  striking  story.    .    .    .    Immensely  interesting  and  diverting." — Boston 
Herald. 

Windyhaugh. 

By    GRAHAM   TRAVERS,    author    of    "  Mona   Maclean,  Medical 
Student,"  etc.      I  zmo.      Cloth,  $1.50. 

"The  author  draws  her  characters  with  the  clever  strokes  of  a  successful 
artist.    .    .    .   The  story  never  for  a  moment  palls." — Boston  Herald. 

D.     APPLETON      AND      COMPANY,      NEW     YORK. 


D.  APPLETON    AND   COMPANY'S   PUBLICATIONS. 

BEATRICE   WHITBY'S  NOVELS. 
Each,  I2mo,  cloth,  $1.00  ;  paper,  50  cents. 


"  '  Sunset  '  will  fully  meet  the  expectations  of  Miss  Whitby's  many  admirers, 
while  for  those  (if  such  there  be)  who  may  not  know  her  former  books  it  will  form  a 
very  appetizing  introduction  to  these  justly  popular  stories."  —  London  Globe. 


T 


HE  AWAKENING  OF  MARY  FEN  WICK. 


"  Miss  Whitby  is  far  above  the  average  novelist.  .  .  .  This  story  is  original 
without  seeming  ingenious,  and  powerful  without  being  overdrawn." — New  York 
Commercial  A  dvertiser. 


P 


>ART  OF   THE  PROPERTY. 


"The  book  is  a  thoroughly  good  one.  The  theme  is  the  rebellion  of  a  spirited 
girl  against  a  match  which  has  been  arranged  for  her  without  her  knowledge  or  con 
sent.  ...  It  is  refreshing  to  read  a  novel  in  which  there  is  not  a  trace  oi  slipshod 
work." — London  Spectator. 


A 


MATTER   OF  SKILL. 


"A  very  charming  love  story,  whose  heroine  is  drawn  with  original  skill  »nd 
beauty,  and  whom  everybody  will  love  for  her  splendid  if  very  independent  character." 
—^Boston  Home  Journal. 


o 


NE  REASON    WHY. 


'  A  remarkably  well-written  story.  .  .  .  The  author  makes  her  people  speak 
the  language  of  everyday  life,  and  a  vigorous  and  attractive  realism  pervades  the 
book." — Boston  Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 


I 


N  THE  SUN  TIME  OF  HER  YOUTH. 


1  The  story  has  a  refreshing  air  of  novelty,  and  the  people  that  figure  in  it  are 
depicted  with  a  vivacity  and  subtlety  that  are  very  attractive." — Boston  Beacon. 


M 


ARY  FEN  WICK'S  DAUGHTER. 


A  novel  which  will  rank  high  among  those  of  the  present  season."— 
Boston  Advertiser. 

THE  LAKE  OF  LUCERNE,  and  other  Stones, 
i6mo.     Boards,  with  specially  designed  cover,  50  cents. 

"  Six  short  stories  carefully  and  conscientiously  finished,  and  told  with  the  graceful 
ease  of  the  practiced  raconteur." — Literary  Digest. 

"  Very  dainty,  not  only  in  mechanical  workmanship  but  in  matter  and  manner." — 
Boston  A  dvertiser. 

D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


D.  APPLETON   AND  COMPANY'S   PUBLICATIONS. 

ADA  CAMBRIDGE'S   NOVELS. 

Each,  I2mo,  paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.00. 

J\/rA  TERFAMILIAS. 

"The  pleasant  impression  left  is  a  lasting  one." — New  York  Times. 
"  The  story  is  fragrant  with  the  breath  of  farms,  the  aroma  of  the  salt  sea,  and  the 
even  sweeter  essence  that  exhales  from  the  homely  virtues,  practiced  amid  simple  sur 
roundings,   where  family  ties  are  strong,  and  where  love,  loyal  and   true,  reigns  as 
queen." — Philadelphia  Item. 


A 


HUMBLE  ENTERPRISE. 


"  A  restful,  sympathetic,  domestic  story,  full  of  tender  pathos,  excellent  char 
acter  drawing,  and  genuine,  lovable  human  nature— a  story  to  be  read,  not  once,  but 
again  and  again." — London  Daily  Mail. 


F 


1DELIS. 


"  The  original  flavor  of  Ada  Cambridge  is  not  lost  but  enriched  by  being  in 
grafted  on  a  sturdy  stock.  Her  pictures  of  Australia  and  of  rural  England  arc  as  at 
tractive  as  ever,  her  story  better  than  ever.  In  '  Fidelis '  she  has  not  only  advanced 
beyond  herself,  but  has  written  one  of  the  best  little  novels  of  the  year." — New  York 
Evening  Post. 


M 


Y  GUARDIAN. 


"A  story  which  will,  from  first  to  last,  enlist  the  sympathies  of  the  reader 
by  its  simplicity  of  style  and  fresh,  genuine  feeling.  .  .  .  The  author  is  au  Jait  at  the 
delineation  of  character." — Boston  Transcript. 


T 


'HE  THREE  MISS  KINGS. 


"  An  exceedingly  strong  novel.  It  is  an  Australian  story,  teeming  with  a  cer 
tain  calmness  of  emotional  power  that  finds  expression  in  a  continual  outflow  of  living 
thought  and  feeling." — Boston  Times. 

"  The  story  is  told  with  great  brilliancy,  the  character  and  society  sketching  is  very 
charming,  while  delightful  incidents  and  happy  surprises  abound.  It  is  a  triple  love 
story,  pure  in  tone,  and  of  very  high  literary  merit." — Chicago  Herald. 


N 


OT  ALL  IN  VAIN. 


"  A  worthy  companion  to  the  best  of  the  author's  former  efforts,  and  in  some 
respects  superior  to  any  of  them."—  Detroit  Free  Press. 


A 


MARRIAGE  CEREMONY. 


"  'A  Marriage  Ceremony'  is  highly  original  in  conception,  its  action  graceful 
though  rapid,  and  its  characters  sparkling  with  that  life  and  sprightltness  that  have 
made  their  author  rank  as  a  peer  of  delineators."—  Baltimore  American. 


A 


LITTLE  MINX. 


"A  thoroughly  charming  novel,  which  is  just  the  finest  bit  of  work  its  author 
has  yet  accomplished." — Baltimore  American. 


D.  APPLETON  AND   COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


D.  APPLETON   AND  COMPANY'S   PUBLICATIONS. 


A 


Miss    F.    F.    MONTRESOR'S    BOOKS. 

UNIFORM  EDITION.      EACH,   l6MO,  CLOTH. 

T    THE  CROSS-ROADS.     $1.50. 


•  Miss  Montr6sor  has  the  skill  in  writing  of  Olive  Schreiner  and  Miss  Harm- 
ien,  added  to  the  fullness  of  knowledge  of  life  which  is  a  chief  factor  in  the  success  of 
George  Eliot  and  Mrs.  Humphry  Ward.  .  .  .  Tnere  is  as  much  strength  in  this  book 
as  in  a  dozen  ordinary  successful  novels."  —  London  Literary  World. 

"  I  commend  it  to  all  my  readers  who  like  a  strong,  cheerful,  beautiful  story.  It 
is  one  of  the  truly  notable  books  of  the  season."  —  Cincinnati  Commercial  Tribune. 

CALSE  COIN  OR  TRUE?   $1.25. 

"One  of  the  few  true  novels  of  the  day.  ...  It  is  powerful,  and  touched  with  a 
delicate  insight  and  strong  impressions  of  life  and  character.  .  .  .  The  author's  theme 
is  original,  her  treatment  artistic,  and  the  book  is  remarkable  for  its  unflagging  inter 
est."  —  Philadelphia  Record. 

"  The  tale  never  flags  in  interest,  and  once  taken  up  will  not  be  laid  down  until  the 
last  page  is  finished."—  Boston  Budget. 

"A  well-written  novel,  with  well-depicted  characters  and  well-chosen  scenes."— 
Chicago  News. 

"  A  sweet,  tender,  pure,  and  lovely  story."  —  Buffalo  Commercial. 


'HT 

*• 


ONE  WHO  LOOKED  ON.     $1.25. 


'  A  tale  quite  unusual,  entirely  unlike  any  other,  full  of  a  strange  power  and 
realism,  and  touched  with  a  fine  humor." — London  World. 

"One  of  the  most  remarkable  and  powerful  of  the  year's  contributions,  worthy  to 
stand  with  Ian  Maclaren's."— British  Weekly. 

"One  of  the  rare  books  which  can  be  read  with  great  pleasure  and  recommended 
without  reservation.  It  is  fresh,  pure,  sweet,  and  pathetic,  with  a  pathos  which  is  per 
fectly  wholesome." — St.  Paul  Globe. 

"  The  story  is  an  intensely  human  one,  and  it  is  delightfully  told.  .  .  .  The  author 
shows  a  marvelous  keenness  in  character  analysis,  and  a  marked  ingenuity  in  the  de 
velopment  of  her  story." — Boston  Advertiser. 

NTO  THE  HIGHWA  YS  AND  HEDGES.    $1.50. 

'  A  touch  of  idealism,  of  nobility  of  thought  and  purpose,  mingled  with  an  air  of 
reality  and  well-chosen  expression,  are  the  most  notable  features  of  a  book  that  has  not 
the  ordinary  defects  of  such  qualities.  With  all  its  elevation  of  utterance  and  spirit 
uality  of  outlook  and  insight  it  is  wonderfully  free  from  overstrained  or  exaggerated 
matter,  and  it  has  glimpses  of  humor.  Most  of  the  characters  are  vivid,  yet  there  arc 
restraint  and  sobriety  in  their  treatment,  and  almost  all  are  carefully  and  consistently 
evolved."— London  Athenceunt. 

"  '  Into  the  Highways  and  Hedges  '  is  a  book,  not  of  promise  only,  but  of  high 
•achievement.  It  is  original,  powerful,  artistic,  humorous.  It  places  the  author  at  a 
hound  in  the  rank  of  those  artists  to  whom  we  look  for  the  skillful  presentation  of  strong 
personal  impressions  of  life  and  character." — London  Daily  News. 

"  The  pure  idealism  of '  Into  the  Highways  and  Hedges '  does  much  to  redeem 
modern  fiction  from  the  reproach  it  has  brought  upon  itself.  .  .  .  The  story  is  original, 
and  told  with  great  refinement."— Philadelphia  Public  Ledger. 

D.  APPLETON  AND   COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


D.  APPLETON   AND  COMPANY'S   PUBLICATfONS. 

HAMLIN   GARLAND'S    BOOKS. 
Uniform  edition.  Each,  12010,  cloth,  $1.25. 

TX/'AYSIDE  COURTSHIPS. 

y  *  «  A  faithful  and  an  entertaining  portrayal  of  village  and  rural  life  in  the  West. 
No  one  can  read  this  collection  of  short  stories  without  feeling  that  he  is  master 
)f  the  subject."— Chicago  Journal. 

"  One  of  the  most  delightful  books  of  short  stories  which  have  come  to  our  notice  in 
a  long  time." — Boston  Times. 

"  The  historian  of  the  plains  has  done  nothing  better  than  this  group  of  Western 
stories.  Wayside  courtships  they  are,  but  full  of  tender  feeling  and  breathing  a  fine, 
strong  sentiment." — Louisville  Times. 


j 


ASON  ED  WARDS.     An  Average  Man. 


The  average  man  in  the  industrial  ranks  is  presented  in  this  story  in  as  lifelike 
a  manner  as  Mr.  Bret  Harte  presented  the  men  in  the  California  mining  camps  thirty 
years  ago.  ...  A  story  which  will  be  read  with  absorbing  interest  by  hundreds  oi 
workingmen." — Boston  Herald. 


A 


MEMBER   OF    THE    THIRD   HOUSE. 

Story  of  Political  Warfare. 


"  The  work  is,  in  brief,  a  keen  and  searching  study  of  lobbies  and  lobbyists.  At 
least,  it  is  the  lobbies  that  furnish  its  motive.  For  the  rest,  the  story  is  narrated  with 
much  power,  and  the  characters  of  Brennan  the  smart  wjre-puller,  the  millionaire  Davis, 
the  reformer  Tuttle,  and  Evelyn  Ward  are  skillfully  individualized.  .  .  .  Mr.  Garland's 
people  have  this  peculiar  characteristic,  that  they  have  not  had  a  literary  world  made 
for  them  to  live  m.  They  seem  to  move  and  act  in  the  cold  gray  light  of  reality,  and 
in  that  trying  light  they  are  evidently  human." — Chicago  Record. 


A 


SPOIL  OF  OFFICE.     A    Story   of  the   Modern 
West. 

"  It  awakens  in  the  mind  a  tremendous  admiration  for  an  artist  who  could  so  find 
his  way  through  the  mists  of  familiarity  to  an  artistic  haven.  ...  In  reading  '  A  Spoil 
of  Office '  one  feels  a  continuation  of  interest  extending  from  the  fictional  into  the  actual, 
with  no  break  or  divergence.  And  it  seems  to  be  only  a  question  of  waiting  a  day  or 
two  ere  one  will  run  up  against  the  characters  in  real  life." 


A 


ALSO, 

LITTLE  NORSK  ;  or,  Or  Pap's  Flaxen.     i6mo. 
Boards,  50  cents. 

"  True  feeling,  the  modesty  of  Nature,  rnd  the  sure  touch  of  art  are  the  marks  of 
this  pure  and  graphic  story,  which  has  added  a  bright  leaf  to  the  author's  laurels."— 
Chicago  Tribune. 

"  A  delightful  story,  full  of  humor  of  the  finest  kind,  genuine  pathos,  and  enthralling 
in  its  vivid  human  interest." — London  Academy. 


D.  APPLETON  AND   COMPANY.  NEW  YORK. 


By    MAARTEN    MAARTENS, 


Each,  J2mo,  cloth,  $J.50.    Uniform  Edition, 

Some   Women    I    have    Known.     (Nearly  ready) 
"  Maarten  Maartens  is  one  of  the  best  novel  writers  of  this  or 

any  day." — Chicago  Times- Her  aid, 

"  Maarten    Maartens  stands    head  and  shoulders  above  the 

average  novelist  of  the  day  in  intellectual  subtlety  and  imaginative 

power." — Boston  Beacon. 

Her  Memory.     With  Photogravure  Portrait. 

"  Maarten  Maartens  took  us  all  by  storm  some  time  ago  with 
his  fine  story  christened  '  God's  Fool.'  He  established  himself 
at  once  in  our  affections  as  a  unique  creature  who  had  something 
to  say  and  knew  how  to  say  it  in  the  most  fascinating  way.  He  is 
a  serious  story  writer,  who  sprang  into  prominence  when  he  first 
put  his  pen  to  paper,  and  who  has  ever  since  kept  his  work  up  to 
the  standard  of  excellence  which  he  raised  in  the  beginning." — 
New  York  Herald. 

The  Greater  Glory.     A  Story  of  High  Life. 

"  It  would  take  several  columns  to  give  any  adequate  idea  of 
the  superb  way  in  which  the  Dutch  novelist  has  developed  his 
theme  and  wrought  out  one  of  the  most  impressive  stories  of  the 
period.  ...  It  belongs  to  the  small  class  of  novels  which  one 
can  not  afford  to  neglect. " — San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

God's  Fool. 

"Throughout  there  is  an  epigrammatic  force  which  would 
make  palatable  a  less  interesting  story  of  human  lives  or  one  less 
deftly  told." — London  Saturday  Review. 

Joost  Avelingh. 

"  Aside  from  the  masterly  handling  of  the  principal  characters 
and  general  interest  in  the  story,  the  series  of  pictures  of  Dutch 
life  give  the  book  a  charm  peculiarly  its  own." — New  York 
Herald. 


D.  APPLETON  AND   COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


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